THE  FORTY-NINERS  AND  OTHER  RHYMES 
A.B.  Wilcox 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

DAVIS 

GIFT  OF 

THE  PIERCE  FAMILY 


A-tt0utt 


crl 


e  Forlu -Winers 

and  J 

Other  Rhymes 


Some  slants  on  subjects 
old  and  new  without  "Soarings 
In  the  Uiah  Reason  of  Fancy." 


JINSON  BRAZEE  1D1LCOX 


Poetry  is  music  in  words;  and  music  is  poetry  in  sound. 

J  J  —Fuller 

>All  are  architects  of  fate, 
Working  in  these  halls  of  time; 
Some  with  massive  deed  and  great, 
Some  with  ornaments  of  rhyme. 

J         — H.  ID.  Longfellow 

If  I  can  lend 

>A  strong  hand  to  the  fallen,  or  defend 

Qhe  right  against  a  single  envious  strain, 

My  life,  though  bare 

Of  much  that  seemeth  dear  and  fair 

Qb  us  on  earth,  will  not  have  been  in  vain. 

—Helen  Hunt  Jackson 


Oranae  Bower,  California 


Copyright   by 

ANSON    BRAZEE    WILCOX 
1922 


Respectfully  Dedicated 

lo 
Mr.  and  TTLrs.  Raymond  .A.  Leonard. 


To  the  Reader 

Every  book  of  whatever  importance  has  a  purpose 
and  this  one  has  several.  It  is  the  sincere  hope  that  it 
will  help  to  make  the  real  California  better  known  and 
induce  those  of  far  greater  ability  to  lay  aside  their 
fears  and  endure  whatever  must  be  endured  to  give 
their  part  of  our  state  a  higher  place  on  the  poetic  map. 

The  fate  of  Lavinsky,  Redman  and  others,  who  quit 
life  because  they  could  no  longer  endure  the  persecution 
directed  against  them,  has  had  its  effect.  It  is  natural 
to  follow  the  lines  of  least  resistance,  particularly  when 
to  do  otherwise  may  mean  what  it  has  meant.  But  the 
writer  has  felt  it  as  a  call  to  duty  to  do  the  little  he 
could  do  to  help  those  who  are  so  valiantly  striving  to 
loosen  the  strangle  hold  of  the  lethal  forces  which  are 
keeping  a  large  part  of  our  state  from  its  rightful  place 
in  the  line  of  progress ;  forces  which  would  still  hold  it 
to  the  level  of  primitive  days. 

Another  aim  is  explained  by  the  sub-title.  It  is  be 
lieved  that  the  rhymes  are  understandable  by  all  who 
understand  the  English  language.  Those  who  are  look 
ing  for  effusions  which  expatiate  on  the  nebulosity  of 
the  imponderable  will  have  to  look  elsewhere. 

The  little  book  was  primarily  meant  for  those  en 
couraging  friends  who  knew  of  the  difficulties  under 
which  much  of  it  was  composed.  It  is  now  passed  along 
to  other  friends  of  a  wider  circle  with  the  hope  that 
they  may  find  it  not  unworthy  of  our  sunny  State.  There 
is  the  further  hope  that  the  popular  vein,  appearing 
now  and  then,  will  not  detract  from  sincerity  but  that 
the  reader  will  find  an  hour's  profit  as  well  as  pleasure 
in  perusing  its  pages. 

A.  B.  W. 


INDEX 

PAGE 

A  Glad  Old  World 71 

A  Glimpse  26 

At  Cypress  Point   39 

At  Panama  82 

At  Yosemite   99 

A  Wayside  Pine   18 

By  the  Feather  96 

Duty — Trust— Honor    86 

Evening  on  the  Ranch  62 

Fair  Play  89 

Finding  Life's  Gold   47 

Honey-Thoughts    40 

Hate  Still  Abides 63 

He  Called  Them  Good   22 

Her  Love  Notes   77 

He  Smiled  Good  Morning 92 

His  Deed  70 

Industry  vs.  Display 68 

Inspired  to  Duty  98 

In  The  Rice  Fields 10 

Intolerance  of  the  Sea 54 

Jack  Cracker  72 

Joaquin  Miller  66 

John  Burroughs 21 

Leontion 79 

Longing    67 

Lovers 95 

Masters    18 

My  California  State 38 

My  Dog    87 

My  Orange  Bower 8 

Night's   Mystery 88 

Now  Courage  Heart    32 

Ode  to  Motherhood   . 90 

O-fu-ku 19 

Old  Ben 30 

Old  Ocean   26 

Omar    65 

On  Tamalpais    58 

Orange  Picking  13 

Our  Brother  69 

Our  Love  Shall  Live  50 

Peary    35 


PAGE 

Preferred  16 

Progress    75 

Return,  Return   94 

Sea  Rocks  51 

Self's  Domain   93 

Service  84 

Smile  On  76 

Song    24 

Star  Dust   74 

Star  Token  53 

Sweet  Madness 52 

Thaddeus  Kearns  46 

That  Spot  Is  Home 30 

The  Aftermath    37 

The  Call  of  the  Road 60 

The  Chain  of  Silence 49 

The  Fiddler 64 

The  Flight   44 

The  Forty-Niners   7 

The  Hills  That  Charm  23 

The  Land  of  the  Contented  Heart 85 

The  Living  may  not  be  Living,  the  Dead  may  not  be  Dead 56 

The  Mountain  Rover 15 

The  Mystery 11 

Theodore  59 

The  Old  Ship  Speaks   28 

The  Orange  Tree  25 

The  Orange  Tree  Speaks 34 

The  Pine- Wind  Song  17 

The  Poor  American 42 

The  Pungent  Buckthorn    13 

There  Are  Nobler  Things 45 

The  River's  Torrent 44 

The  Song    12 

The  Teacher 20 

They  See  the  King 80 

Thy  Work  is  Thy  Reward 81 

To  A  Sea  Gull  31 

Tolstoy's  Regret  53 

To  Mister  George  Sterling   48 

Voyages   27 

Waiting    32 

Washington    78 

Waves    41 

What  Mountains  Tell   97 

Whispers  .  .  .36 


*THE   FORTY-NINERS 

Lest  Memory  should  close  her  page 

On  days  when  gold  held  all  the  stage ; 

When  the  round  world  with  single  eye 

Turned  California-ward  to  try 

Its  luck;  where  fortunes  could  be  won 

'Tween  glowing  dawn  and  setting  sun, 

Or  if  not  quite  so  swift  as  this, 

The  gold  was  here  one  could  not  miss — 

I  would  record  a  line  or  two 

Of  deeds  which  should  be  kept  in  view. 

Here  by  these  streams  and  o'er  these  hills 
They  strode  and  toiled  with  sturdy  wills, 
These  giants  in  a  purpose  strong, 
These  heroes  with  a  conquering  song; 
They  met  the  challenge  of  great  souls 
Of  heat  and  drought,  of  storm  and  flood, 
Of  blistering  trails,  of  swamping  mud, 
Of  hunger,  cold  and  roofless  nights, 
Yet  paused  not  at  such  costly  tolls. 

Stern  Nature  seems  to  frown  and  wait 

To  yield  her  secrets  to  the  great, 

And  here  reluctant  she  gave  way 

To  hearts  of  oak  she  could  not  stay; 

Here  in  the  struggle  for  his  goal 

Each  bared  the  gold  of  a  rugged  soul; 

Together  they  the   Savage  fought, 

Together  beast  and  bandit  caught, 

Renewed  the  fires  of  ancestral  fame 

To  meet  all  dangers  as  they  came; 

If  rough  their  games  and  songs  and  jokes, 

They  hid  the  heart-ache  for  the  homeland  folks. 


And  in  this  struggle  in  a  land  unknown, 

Where  death  marked  the  card  that  called  his  own— 

For  here  and  there   'neath  the  yew  and  pine, 

Where  the  striving  winds  through  the  chap'ral  whine, 

On  many  a  lonely  star-domed  hill, 

Lies  all  that  is  left  of  a  heart  long  still— 

What  was,  through  all  this  hardship,  won? 

Was  it  the  gold  and  the  gold  alone? 

They  won  an  empire  which  by  God's  grace 

Shall  live  while  liberty  holds  its  place, 

And  proved  that  man's  unfettered  will 

Cannot  be  conquered,  will  conquer  still. 

*(Note:  This  poem  was  first  published  in  the  Sac 
ramento  Union,  May  26,  1922,  when  two  hundred  thou 
sand  people  attended  The  Days  of  Forty-Nine  Cele 
bration.) 

MY    ORANGE    BOWER 

Fair  is  the  spot  where  flows  the  stream  of  song, 
Where  Po-e-sy  inspires  a  stam'ring  tongue, 
Where  all  the  ambient  airs  in  cadence  breathe 
And  tuneful   strains  Time's   gentle  liours  enwreath. 

Nowhere  beyond  are  skies  so  fair  and  blue, 
None  gemmed  so  full  of  smiles,  the  clouds  so  few; 
And  here  I've  found  my  Isle — Isle  of  the  Blest, 
Led  by  my  star  to  end  a  happy  quest. 

Here  bud  and  fruit  the  embowering  orange  trees— 
The  once  famed  apples  of  the  Hesperides; 
Small  wonder  Juno  chose  such  wedding  gift, 
And  Hesper's  daughters  kept  from  loss  or  theft. 

The  fragrance  which  sweet-scents  this  golden  bower, 
Not  Irem  had  nor  Yemen's,  dulcet  flower; 
It  soothes  dull  care  and  woos  till  downy  ease 
Becomes  a  fond  luxurious  disease. 


The  bee  strums  strophes  of  melody  and  sips 
Hymettan  dew  from  blossoms'  nectared  lips; 
The  thronging  songsters  greet  me  as  a  guest 
While  building  in  the  magic  of  a  nest. 

A  fountain  near  diffuses  summer's  rays 
And  greens  the  grass  with  limpid  circling  sprays, 
When  fields  are  brown  and  all  the  mountain  side, 
And  hazed  the  peaks  where  beats  the  ocean  tide. 

Here  one  may  muse  in  spirit  and  discard 
The  fleshly  link  which  binds  to  earth  so  hard, 
And  feel  the  beauties  which  heaven  brings  anear 
For  high  enjoyment  for  all  with  soul  to  hear. 

Not  Homer  here  could  trump  of  war  and  flame, 
Nor  Horace  the  Falernian  cup  acclaim; 
No  journey  could  great  Chaucer  lure  away, 
Nor  Milton's  fancy  have  greater  chance  for  play. 

Ne'er  did  I  find  in  that  far  tropic  zone* 
The  thermal  balm  I  here  may  call  my  own; 
The  dawn's  more  fair,  the  day's  reluctant  close 
Waves  gorgeous  banners  to  wish  me  sweet  repose. 

Here  I  may  revel  as  one  born  out  of  time — 

My  harp  but  single-stringed  yet  strum  its  rhyme — 

May  glimpse  the  mighty  who've  graced  the  world  of 

song, 
A  follower  afar  yet  humbly  to  belong. 

*The  author  spent  a  year  in  South  America. 


IN   THE   RICE   FIELDS 

Gay  is  the  morning,  0  Bice  Fields, 

Gay  with  the  glow  of  green  and  yellow 

Of  your  changing  moire  in  the  sunlight, 
Filtered  through  sea-born  clouds,  soft  and  mellow. 

The  fragrance  which  thurifies  the  breeze, 
Across  your  gold-laden  ears  of  treasure, 

Is  sweet  to  the  husbandman  and  sweet 

To  me  who  feasts  e'en  now  on  coming  pleasure. 

Along  your  water-ways  the  wild  fowl 

Eevel  noisily  or,  lazily  napping, 
Heed  no  more  the  call  of  the  icy  vasts 

Nor    join    the    goose-wedge    through    clouds    sky- 
wrapping. 

Soon  the  reapers  will  nibble  at  your  edges, 

Will  unravel  your  web  of  rare  beauty, 
Leaving  the  skeins  in  tangled  heaps 

But  foraging  your  wealth — no  richer  booty. 

Let  me  romp  in  you  as  in  the  tall  grass 

And  lave  in  you  and  feel  your  touch  caressing; 

Let  me  dream  of  you  and  the  infinitude  of  stars 
While  the  frets  and  skeins  of  life  go  evanescing. 

Let  me  thrill  anew  in  the  Infinite  Wisdom, 

The  fiatic  mystery  of  time  unbending; 
The  seed,  the  harvest;  birth  and  rebirth  of  man  and  star, 

In  days  or  aeons  forever  onward  wending. 


10 


THE   MYSTERY 

By  the  river's  flow'ry  brink, 
Come  with  me  at  early  dawn; 

We  will  sit  beneath  the  willow, 

Or  with  pine  boughs  for  a  pillow, 
Rest  serene  on  grassy  lawn, 

While  the  river's  calm  we  drink. 

Come  when  songsters,  glad  of  life, 
Throat  their  sweetest  roundelay; 

Or  with  gleeful  wings  the  water 

Dash  to  spray   'mid  birdish  laughter, 
E're  the  palpitating  day 

Ushers  in  its  round  of  strife. 

We  will  watch  the  silver  tide, 
Rippling  music  on  its  way; 

Singing  still  its  gladsome  story, 

On  and  on  since  ages  hoary, 
Giving  of  itself  each  day, 

Loving  service  far  and  wide. 

While  we  listen  to  the  strain, 
We  the  mystery  shall  know : 

Why  it  is  that  constant  duty 

Changes  sordidness  to  beauty; — 
Chilling  ice  and  freezing  snow 

Thus  become  the  balmy  rain. 

Then  when  comes  the  toilsome  day, 
Burdened  with  its  weight  of  care, 

We  shall  fear  its  toils  no  longer, 

Faith  renewed  and  courage  stronger, 
Gladly  we  will  fardels  bear, 

Spreading  cheer  along  the  way. 


11 


THE    SONG 

Sometimes  the  *  orange  bower  fails — 

Inspires  no  song; 
And  closed  are  all  the  Pindus  trails 

With  thoughts  that  throng; 
The  arrow,  that  would  reach  the  height, 
Lacks  centered  impulse  for  the  flight, 
As  many  bows  add  not  in  might, 

Nor  flight  prolong. 

Or  many  strings  are  to  the  bow, 

No   shaft  will   suit; 
No  song  to-day,  nor  high  nor  low, 

The  pen  lies  mute; 
Then  comes  the  katydid  to  sing, 
With  pride  he  strums  his  single  string, 
To  cheer  the  heart  of  everything 

He's  resolute. 

He  glories  in  his   helpful    art, 

His  note  but  one; 
Of  all  earth's  choirs  he's  apart 

With  Mendelssohn; 
'Tis  not  the  many  notes  that  sway, 
Nor  send  the  message  on  its  way; 
So  there  will  be  a  song  today 

E'er  set  of  sun; 

A  song  that  may  in  humble  guise 

Some  courage  bring ; 
Some  note  of  brighter,  fairer  skies, 

With  joys  awing; 

Though  simple  be  the  lay  and  plain, 
It  will  not  have  been  sung  in  vain 
If  'twill  inspire  some  heart  again 

In  hope  to  sing. 


12 


THE  PUNGENT  BUCKTHORN 

When  Lady  March  with  velvet  key 
Has  ope'd  and  set  Earth's  jewels  free; 
How  pungent  is  the  buckthorn's  bloom! 
To  hold  it  all  there  scarce  seems  room. 

The  manzanita  vainly  tries 
To  spread  its  pearly  chalices, 
To  add  if  may  be  fragrant  worth 
To  all  the  vernal  joys  of  earth. 

Likewise  the  scented  heliotrope 
Would  lend  its  aid  with  buoyant  hope; 
But  of  their  wish  they'll  catch  no  gleam- 
The  pungent  buckthorn  reigns  supreme. 


ORANGE  PICKING 

When  autumn  winds  from  heated  ways 

Sport  with  the  rolling  tumble  weed; 
And  goldenrod  from  starry  rays 

Lets  fall  to  earth  its  ripened  seed; 
There  comes  a  day  all  days  among 

That  turns  life's  prose  to  leaping  rhyme; 
It  brings  a  shout  from  old  and  young 

When  round  comes  orange  picking  time. 

The  wagons  move  with  lively  pace, 

The  youngsters  romp  and  dance  with  glee, 
And  all  with  knapsacks  strapped  in  place 

Go  through  the  orchard,  tree  to  tree; 
They  climb  among  the  bronze  green  leaves 

To  pluck  the  luscious  golden  globes, 
A  gold  some  fairy  interweaves, 

For  never  queen  wore  richer  robes. 

13 


And  when  the  sacks  are  brimming  o'er, 

They  bear  them  down  and  boxes  fill; 
Then  up  again  and  pick  some  more, 

For  there  are  oceans  of  them  still; 
Tom  eager  calls  to  Sister  Rhe, 

For  he  has  found  some  extra  sweet, 
He  shares  with  her  and  both  agree 

There  is  no  finer  fruit  to  eat. 

With  care  they  fill  the  wagon  bed, 

Then  all  the  children  climb   aboard; 
They  drive  off  to  the  packing  shed 

And  there  unload  their  precious  hoard. 
A  merry  crew — an  orange  bee — 

Wraps  each  with  softest  paper  round, 
Packs  boxes  ready  for  some  tree 

Wherever  Christmas  trees  are  found. 

When  evening  comes,  they  play  at  games, 

One  hears  the  banjo,  tambourine; 
Song  follows  song  and  each  proclaims 

The  orange  as  the  reigning  queen. 
Though  other  seasons  have  their  joys, 

And  some  would  praise  with  noisy  drums, 
None  suits  so  well  the  girls  and  boys 

As  this,  when  orange  picking  comes. 


14 


THE  MOUNTAIN  ROVER 

I  am  roving  the  Sierras 

Through  and  through; 
Peak  on  peak  in  joy  ascending, 

View  on  view; 

Climb   where   some   aspiring  dome 
For  the  stars  would  make  a  home 
So  no  longer  they  need  roam 

As  they  do. 

Canons  here  and  there  low  falling, 

Deep  on  deep; 
Cliffs  so  sheer  the  eye  appalling, 

Steep  on  steep; 

Where  the  world  has  set  its  rafter, 
Let  the  voice  butting  with  laughter- 
Peaks  will  join  in  ever  after 

Till  they  sleep. 

There's  a  maid*  that's  worth  pursuing, 

Coy  this  maid; 
None  so  faint  but  would  be  wooing, 

Shine  or  shade; 

When  her  voice  is  heard  a-rippling, 
Thirsty  souls  just  take  to  tippling, 
Precious  every  drop  and  drippling— 

Earth's  "First  Aid." 

Comes  the  day  to  glorious  ending; 

Sun  and  sea 
Kiss  while  blushing  clouds  are  sending 

Love  to  me; 

Coffee  fragrant,  trout  a-frying, 
Then  on  blankets  spread  I'm  lying, 
Rest  comes  sweet,  there's  no  denying, 

Sweet  and  free. 

Then  Dawn's  pollen,  eyes  a-filling, 

Rubbed  away; 
Eerie  joys  the  soul  a-thrilling, 

Come  what  may; 

15 


"Onward"  trumps  the  call  of  morning, 
With,  new  life  the  sun's  adorning, 
Toil  and  care  forever  scorning, 
Vast  the   day. 

In  my  veins  the  peaks  are  bounding, 

Part  of  me; 
Bird  and  tree  and  cliff  resounding, 

Harmony ; 

Freedom's  drumbeats  here  are  playing, 
Here  God  hears  and  answers  praying, 
Here  my  heart  would  e're  be  staying, 

Mountain  free. 
*Water. 


PREFERRED 

I  heard  their  boast  far  out  at  sea, 

Those  mighty  towers  of  flame-lit  steel; 

And  when  I  climbed  them  verily 
It  made  my  throbbing  senses  reel. 

And  bridges  too  of  strength  and  flight, 
Aladdin's  lamp  could  not  such  wing, 

Nor  poise  at  such  a  thrilling  height, 
Sang  their  importance  towering. 

Huge  dreadnaughts  glowed  and  proud  machines 
That  dived  the  deep  or  winged  the  air, 

Bit  holes  through  mountains,  hid  ravines 
And  tasks  the  old  gods  did  not  dare. 

These  and  their  cousins  were  so  great— 

The  miracles  of  man's  invention- 
No  rivals  might  their  fame  abate, 

There  could  be  none  worthy  of  mention. 

Then  Love's  soft  laughter  modestly 

Drew  near,  came  through  my  cottage  gate; 

Ah,  then  I  cried,  "Just  stay  with  me, 
Let  all  man's  great  inventions  wait." 


16 


THE  PINE-WIND   SONG 

There  is  no  song  like  the  pine-wind  sings 

The  sky-domed  mountain  tops  along; 
There  is  no  fragrance  like  it  brings 

To  ease  the  pulses'  throb  and  throng; 
Here  all  my  trails  it  knows  by  heart, 

Here  all  my  wanderings  come  to  rest, 
And  I  forget  the  street  and  mart 

When  of  the  pine-wind  I'm  a  guest. 

Here  feeds  the  red  deer,  nose  to  wind, 

And  here  I  too  the  red  deer  am, 
As  free  from  fetters  that  would  bind, 

As  free  to  feel  the  pine-wind  balm; 
Its  fragrance  deepens  as  it  trips 

Across  my  bare  and  fevered  brow, 
Soft  as  the  touch  of  maiden's  lips, 

Sweet  as  the  lisp  of  maiden's  vow. 

The  age-old  secrets  that  it  brings 

Of  desert,   sea   and  icy  vast, 
E'er  it  'gan  here  its  whisperings, 

All  o'er  me  a  deep  thralldom  cast; 
For  it  has  winged  e'er  Time  began, 

'Twill  onward  wing  when  Time's  forgot; 
Its  song  is  Lethe's  artisan 

Till  I'm  the  pine-wind  in  this  spot. 


17 


A   WAYSIDE    PINE 

How  dear  that  tree,  that  wayside  pine, 
Whose  branches  wide  like  banners  spread; 

Whence  bird-songs  burst  with  notes  divine, 
That  round  me  hope  and  courage  shed. 

To  all  around  it  was  a  friend- 
To  traveler  wearied  on  the  way 

And  plowboy,  at  the  furrow's  end, 
Found  shelter  from  the  sun's  hot  ray. 

But  best  of  all  this  truth  it  told : 

Who  would  life's  ills  to  joys  transform, 
Must  stand  like  worthy  knight  of  old, 

'Mid  hurtling  thrust  and  thrash  of  storm. 

And  now  'tis  gone,  that  grand  old  tree, 

A  ruthless  axman  laid  it  low; 
No  more  'twill  wave  its  cheer  to  me— 

Help  me  to  bear  the  storms  that  blow. 


MASTERS 

Said  great  Aurelius,  sage  of  old: 

"Your  happiness  depends, 
Upon  the  kind  and  character, 

Of  thoughts  that  shape  your  ends." 

Oh,  would  this  sage  rise  from  his  dust, 
And  borrow  Gabriel's  horn; 

To  wake  us  from  our  own  dead  selves, 
Since  Fate  rules  night  and  morn! 

'Twould  take  a  mighty  blast,  but  then, 

We  would  be  gainers  still 
To  know  they're  Masters  who  depend 

On  thoughts  and  force  of  will. 


is 


0-FU-KU 

0-fu-ku,  0-fu-ku, 

Ah,  how  I  do  envy  you! 

More  than  emperor  his  throne, 

Or  great  Budda  carved  in  stone; 

More  than  prince  in  splendor's  rank, 

Or  Chosh-u  who  owns  the  bank; 

More  than  Shogun's  master  word, 

Or  great  Kublai  with  his  sword; 

0-fu-ku,  0-fu-ku, 

Ah,  how  I  do  envy  you! 

0-fu-ku,  0-fu-ku, 

Why  do  I  so  envy  you? 

This:  Because  where'er  you  stay, 

You  can  demons  drive  away; 

In  a  painting  which  I  own, 

Throwing  beans,  you  there  are  shown, 

Throwing  them  with  all  your  might, 

Driving  demons  from  your  sight; 

Ah,  if  I  but  could  do  this, 

Then  my  cup  were  filled  with  bliss! 

0-fu-ku,  0-fu-ku, 

I  no  more  will  envy  you, 

If  to  me  you'll  give  this  power 

In  fee  simple  as  a  dower; 

It  may  take  up  all  my  means 

Just  to  buy  the  sacks  of  beans, 

But  I'll  throw  them  hard  and  straight, 

And  these  nuisances  abate; 

It  will  be  well  worth  the  price — 

Make  this  life  a  Paradise. 

0-fu-ku,  0-fu-ku, 

Surely  that  for  me  you'll  do; 

Ah,  the  demons  that  abound 

In  and  out  and  all  around! 

Demon  "lazy,"  demon  "late," 

Demon  "hurry,"  demon  "wait," 

Demon  "debt  forgot  to  pay," 

Demon  "talks  my  time  away;" 

0-fu-ku,  0-fu-ku, 

Ah,  how  I  do  envy  you! 

19 


THE  TEACHER 

We've  dreamers  had  whose  dreams  came  true 
And  all  the  world  was  helped  thereby; 

But  e'en  their  failure  brought  to  viewr 
Some  latent  possibility; 

There's  one  whose  wagon  trails  a  star, 

To  her  my  lays  indited  are. 

She  sees  within  each  little  flame, 
That  stands  up-smiling  at  her  knee, 

The  fire  that  will  emblaze  a  name 
To  honor  all  humanity ; 

And  though  herself  may  be  forgot, 

She  fans  the  flame,  it  matters  not. 

No  sculptor  clearer  image  sees 

Within  the  marble's  darksome  shade; 

No  brush  can  limn  such  qualities- 
Immortal  attributes  God  made ; 

Hers  the  alchemist's  touch  to  fuse 

All  blemishes  to  beauty's  hues. 

She  bears  the  Lamp  where  learning  goes, 
Between  all  seas  where  free  hearts  dwell; 

'Tis  she  who  Patriotism  sows — 
With  Loyalty  makes  all  hearts  swell ; 

Though  such  her  aims,  so  soft  her  tread, 

We  leave  the  praiseful  word  unsaid. 

In  city's  heart,  on  wind-swept  plain, 
On  mountain  height  or  far-flung  vale; 

In  cold  or  heat,  in  shine  or  rain, 
Discouragements  in  vain  assail; 

The  highest  call  which  humans  hear 

Makes  patient  duty  one  of  cheer. 

To  her  away  what  memories  run ! 

What  sweet  aromas  round  her  cling, 
Who  guided  when  we  first  begun 

To  answer  learning's  beckoning! 
To  syllable  taught  me  the  art, 
Enshrined  herself  within  my  heart ! 

20 


Friends,  when  the  throng  the  air  has  rent 
With  cheers  and  cannon's  loud  applause, 

To  throne  some  great  one  President, 
Think  who  of  greatness  is  the  cause ; 

Who  oft  unsung,  unheard,  unknown, 

Is  yet  the  nation's  corner-stone. 


JOHN  BURROUGHS 

Where'er  he  walked,  companion  of  the  trails, 
Through  fields  or  woods,  along  the  verdant  dales, 
He  found  fair  kindred  of  the  furred  and  feathered  wild, 
And  knew  their  homelife  as  a  father  knows  his  child. 

Where'er  he  walked,  there  came  an  eager  throng, 
Like  children  followed  Pied,  lured  by  his  song; 
These  caught  his  vision — all  creatures  had  new  charm — 
And  learned  'twas  nobler  to  do  them  naught  of  harm. 

Where  'er  he  walked,  fair  Nature  brighter  shone 
And  millions  saw ;  they  loved  him  as  their  own ; 
A  deeper  sympathy  in  widening  circles  ran 
Till  all  the  knowing  earth  rejoiced  for  such  a  man. 

Where  'er  he  walked,  his  voice  is  missed  today, 
None  other  so  endowed  to  lead  the  mystic  way; 
But  we  have  memories  more  precious  far  than  gold, 
And  visions  that  will  gladden  while  time  itself  shall  hold. 

John  Burroughs,   Naturalist;  b.  April  3,   1837;    d. 
March  29,  1921. 


21 


HE  CALLED  THEM  GOOD 

When  you  have  climbed  Sierra's  heights, 
And  felt  with  me  their  kingly  sway ; 

Have  seen  them  clothed  in  ember  lights 
Like  streams  of  gold  at  close  of  day ; 

Have  gazed  across  the  valley 's  span 
And  of  vast  spaces  caught  the  mood, 

You'll  understand — a  sentient  man- 
How,  when  He  'd  made,  God  called  them  good. 

When  you  the  trampling  surf  have  heard 

Aboom  in  grand  cathedral  tones, 
Upon  the  sturdy  cliffs  that  guard— 

Their  sentinel  the  Farallones; 
Have  seen  the  Day  King  slow  descend 

Into  Pacific's  crimson  flood 
To  gild  the  day  with  glorious  end, 

You'll  understand;  God  called  them  good. 

When  you  have  walked  'neath  yew  and  pine 

And  mused  where  great  sequoias  reign; 
Bowed  at  Yosemite's  steep  shrine 

As  pilgrim  at  some  pillard  fane; 
Seen  wood  and  stream  with  life  abound, 

The  fat  globe  bearing  luscious  food 
Where  man  may  feast  the  seasons  round; 

You'll  understand;  God  called  them  good. 

When  you  have  felt  the  thrill  of  bloom, 

The  foothills  swathed  in  cloth-of-gold ; 
The  soothing  helitrope's  perfume, 

The  dreams  that  fill  the  twilight  wold ; 
Have  caught  the  vision,  calm,  serene, 

Of  His  intent,  its  pulchritude— 
A  foretaste  of  His  realm  unseen,— 

You'll  understand;  God  called  them  good. 


22 


THE  HILLS  THAT  CHARM 

They  hold  me  still  with  a  charm  most  tender, 

The  hills  that  dimple  and  bid  me  stay; 
They  dress  so  comely  in  emerald  splendor 

Or  brown,  starred  with  poppies,  up  all  the  way; 
And  when  I  am  tempted  afar  to  wander, 

I  hear  a  whisper  and  my  bosom  thrills — 
They  call  me  back  from  away  off  yonder, 

Do  my  hills,  my  California  hills. 

Oft  I  have  listened  to  the  Tempter's  wooing, 

And  followed  her  north,  south,  east  and  west, 
Beguiled  by  her  into  pursuing 

Some  other  Eschol  that  was  best; 
I  sought  in  climes  by  fame  most  golden 

Plucked  fruits  by  other  crystal  rills; 
But  naught  could  appease  my  heartlove  olden 

For  my  hills,  my  California  hills. 

Oh,  I  love  the  soil  where  the  clover  quickens, 

Where  the  fig  invites  and  the  grape  endears; 
Where  the  fields  wave  gold  and  abundance  thickens, 

And  age  is  endowed  with  youthful  years; 
I  love  th'  green  bay  and  th'  round  red  berry, 

The  raisin  and  orange  to  feast  as  one  wills ; 
The  song-birds  join  in  a  chorus  merry 

For  my  hills,  my  California  hills. 

The  vales  and  uplands  are  so  bonny, 

The  kine  and  the  flocks  browse  in  pastures  deep; 
The  quail  pipes  his  lay,  the  bees  mint  honey, 

And  fish  in  the  streams  for  gladness  leap; 
The  breeze  blows  soft  with  a  breath  of  the  ocean, 

That  valor  inspires  and  virtue  instills; 
There 's  nought  calls  forth  my  deepest  devotion 

Like  my  hills,  my  California  hills. 

Here  dwell  the  sons,  the  true  of  all  nations, 
Who  came  by  the  light  of  a  far-gleaming  star; 

To  find  in  life 's  round  untold  jubilations 

Mid  the  fatness  of  earth,  where  men  as  kings  are; 

23 


Of  gold  there  is  plenty,  but  fairer  the  daughters, 
Fair  in  that  wisdom  which  gladdens  and  thrills ; 

They  swell  the  delights,  like  Hymettan  waters, 
Of  my  hills,  my  California  hills. 

Yes,  they  hold  me  still  with  a  charm  most  tender, 

The  hills  that  dimple  and  bid  me  stay; 
They  dress  so  comely  in  emerald  splendor 

Or  brown  starred  with  poppies,  up  all  the  way; 
No  more  shall  the  Tempter  entice  me  to  wander, 

Content  is  my  heart  and  with  rature  o'erspills; 
For  here  with  the  passing  of  days  I  grow  fonder 

Of  my  hills,  my  Calif ornia  hills. 


SONG 

Oh,  the  fragrant  violet! 

I  adore  it! 

I  adore  it! 

Springing  where  the  fairies  meet, 
By  a  brooklet  crooning  down, 

0  'er  the  rocks  so  worn  and  brown, 
To  the  sunny  foothill  town; 

One  could  here  almost  forget 
All  things  save  the  violet. 

I  adore  it, 

I  adore  it, 

1  adore  the  violet. 

"Why  adore  the  violet, 

In  such  measure, 

With  such  pleasure?" 
Oft  I,  when  the  sun  is  set, 
Weave  a  garland  for  her  hair- 
Crown  for  maiden  wondrous  fair, 
Which  she  coyly  deigns  to  wear, 
Token  of  love's  coronet. 
(Ah,  how  sweet  the  violet!) 

This  the  pleasure, 

Why  the  measure, 
I  adore  the  violet. 


24 


THE  ORANGE  TREE 

Of  trees,  like  books,  there  is  no  end, 
Yet  each  his  choice  may  praise; 

Therefore  I  for  the  orange  speak — 
For  it  my  voice  I'd  raise. 

Its  yellow  globes  like  nuggets  hang 
'Mid  leaves  of  green  and  bronze; 

And  drooping  hang  so  all  may  reach 
Its  ripest,  sweetest,  ones. 

On  days,  when  sweltering  is  the  heat 

And  sun-rays  do  their  worst, 
I  hie  me  to  an  orange  tree 

And  pluck  and  slake  my  thirst. 

How  sweet  the  pulp  to  parched  lips 

Or  hunger's  keen  desire! 
And  then  I  sit  beneath  its  boughs 

And  its  cool  shade  admire-— 

Admire  the  tree  and  call  it  best 

In  all  God's  spacious  plan; 
Its  fruit  and  leaves  with  beauty  crowned 

A  jeweled  gift  to  man. 


25 


A  GLIMPSE 

She  sat  with  a  sister  woman  on  a  park  bench ; 

Her  face  wore  the  bitterness  of  a  thousand  damned  souls, 

And  she  spoke  red  insults  to  passersby. 

The  silk  of  her  was  no  longer  even  fustian; 
Youth  despoiled,  God's  mirror  of  beauty  gone, 
She  was  a  sore,  a  fester  on  the  name  of  woman. 

This  was  in  sight  of  the  Dewey  monument, 
This  was  where  the  mighty  of  earth  had  marched, 
This  was  where  great  wealth  was  heaped  up  in  great 
heaps. 

She  was  poor  beyond  nakedness, 

She  was  poor  beyond  wanting  a  dry  crust, 

She  was  poor  to  wanting  a  soul ! 

Shameless  she  sat  exhaling  the  fumes  of  rum  and  ruin; 
I  saw  this  question  in  a  newspaper:  Is  there  a  Hell? 
Oh,  brother,  sister,  it  is  right  here! 


OLD  OCEAN 

Vast  Tumult,  thou,  lap'd  on  a  space-flung  earth; 

Thy  seething  trouble  casts  more  witching  thrall 
Than  red  alembics  of  auroral  birth, 

Or  Vulcan's  flame  or  smoking  meteor's  fall. 

'Gainst  thee,  how  weak  is  man ! — who  span  thy  power 
When  the  wild  tempest  rides  to  furious  goal  1 

Man 's  ships  caress  thy  bosom — one  fell  hour 

And  thou  couldst  sink  to  bysmal  depths  his  every  soul. 

Symbol  of  Might!     Beside  thy  crested  wave 

A  speck  upon  creation 's  face  I  stand ; 
Across  the  centuries  thou  hast  rolled  to  lave 

These  rocks  by  fiat  of  Creative  Hand. 

For  greater  far  than  thou  as  thou  to  man, 
There  reigns  a  power  untroubled  and  benign; 

'Tis  Mind  Eternal,  enthroned  e'er  time  began, 
Holds  me  of  worth  beyond  such  might  as  thine. 

26 


VOYAGES 

Oft  I  have  sat  anear  the  sunset  sea, 
Apart  from  the  mad  strife  of  gainful  men; 

Where  mountains  rose  and  zephyrs  from  the  lea 

Touched  soft  the  brow  till  earth  seemed  young  again. 

Here  Nature  smiled  through  flower  and  bird's  glad  song, 
Through   crystal  springs,    sweet   gurgling   from   the 
snows ; 

The  sky  bedecked  with  bannered  cloud-steeds  hung 
In  all  the  varied  colors  of  the  rose. 

Ah!  how  I  joyed  in  all  her  cosmic  grace: 
The  sea,  deep-nested  in  the  lap  of  earth; 

The  bay,  fair  moulded  into  gracious  space, 
Where  world  fleets  joined  could  find  a  harbored  berth. 

Oft  I  have  watched  the  ships,  like  swans  for  ease, 
Leave  harbor  nest,  glide  out  the  Golden  Gate, 

Eager  as  lovers  to  greet  the  whitened  seas 
And  kiss  as  those  long-parted  when  they  meet. 

Some  were  o 'erweathered  with  sea-faring  age — 

The  rusty  sails,  dull  tackle,  boats  and  oars- 
Like  Golden  Hinds  with  a  past  equipage, 
And  Drakes  newventuring  to  primal  shores. 

Some  were  new  fabriced  and  still  proudly  bore 
The  christening  garlands  of  a  recent  day; 

Both  old  and  new  were  seeking  some  far  shore, 
Some  port  of  Ind,  perhaps  of  far  Cathay. 

They  followed  down,  companions  of  the  sun, 
But  would  return  when  finished  was  their  quest 

Full  and  rich  laden;  and,  the  voyage  done, 
Would  nest  again  here  of  all  ports  the  best. 

And  I,  still  musing  midst  the  poppy's  bloom, 
Saw  ships  come  home  or  go  on  voyage  bent, 

Until  the  wild  sweet  heliotrope's  perfume 
Lulled  me  to  voyage  in  dream's  Orient. 


27 


THE    OLD    SHIP    SPEAKS 


Once  more  the  rhythmic  pulse  I  feel 
Of  surging  brine  against  my  prow; 

Once  more  there  thrills  from  mast  to  keel 
The  joy  of  life  as  when  my  vow 

I  made  as  bride-to-be  and  true 

And  slid  the  ways  to  the  arms  of  blue. 

Proud  was  I  then  with  the  pride  of  youth, 
The  cheers  of  a  hearty  throng  were  mine ; 

Fine  fabriced  too;  I  was,  in  truth, 
The  finest  ship  of  the  Clipper  line; 

And  on  my  decks  a  happy  crew 

Of  the  j oiliest  tars  a  ship  e'er  knew. 

How  proud  they  were,  when  all  sails  set, 
They  watched  me  cut  the  scudding  brine! 

At  eighteen  knots,  the  tops 'Is  wet 

From  dipping  rollers  across  the  Line 

For  Rio  bound  or  Calao, 

Or  distant  port  where  the  spices  grow. 

I  knew  old  Briny's  every  path, 

From  Oregon  to  Bombay  town; 
Knew  where  the  stormking  whets  his  wrath, 

And  simoons  often  send  ships  down; 
But  the  sailors  always  swore  by  me, 
For  I  took  them  home  through  the  wildest  sea. 

They  sailed  me  into  every  port— 

What  joy  to  be  a  trusted  ship- 
Where  peoples  were  of  every  sort, 

And  fruits  and  sweets  for  every  lip; 
"Then  heave  ho!  lads,  we're  homeward  bound, 
Once  more  we  Ve  been  the  world  around. ' ' 

What  times  those  were!  too  fine  to  last; 

There  came  a  change,  I  scarce  knew  how; 
But  ships  ran  faster  or  as  fast 

By  mystic  smoke  with  puff  and  blow; 
No  mast  was  there  upon  the  deck, 
Of  sails,  I  swear,  there  was  not  a  speck. 

28 


Meanwhile  I  chafed  my  anchor  chain, 
And  chafed  my  spirit  to  the  core; 

I  longed  to  hear  the  song  again 
Of  happy  tars  as  we  left  the  shore; 

But  years  I  there  discarded  lay 

As  just  a  ship  that  had  seen  its  day. 

Then  conflict  came  of  martial  men 
Till  nations  made  tumultuous  war; 

And  ships  were  needed  once  again, 
E'en  sailing  ships  as  clippers  are, 

To  weave  the  woof  and  meet  demand 

Of  commerce  with  war's  distant  strand. 

I  was  rerigged  to  plow  the  brine 

And  stood  forth  burnished  bright  as  new; 
The  skipper  cried  "Cast  off  that  line," 

I  felt  the  tread  of  a  jolly  crew; 
With  food  a  cargo  for  starving  souls; 
Ah !  sweet  to  feel  how  old  Briny  rolls. 

They  say  beware  of  the  sub-marine, 
Of  hidden  mine  or  bombing  plane; 

Of  the  far-flung  shell  or  reef  unseen, 

Since  a  thousand  ships  lie  sunk  i'  the  main; 

But  what  care  I  for  dangers  rife! 

For  this  is  life,  is  life,  IS  LIFE ! 

Once  more  the  rhythmic  pulse  I  feel 
Of  surging  brine  against  my  prow; 

Once  more  there  thrills  from  mast  to  keel 
The  joy  of  life,  as  when  my  vow 

I  made  as  bride-to-be  and  true, 

And  slid  the  ways  to  the  arms  of  blue. 


29 


THAT  SPOT  IS  HOME 

That  spot  is  home  wherein  the  heart 
Finds  fullest  share  of  happiness ; 

All  otherwhere  it  roams  apart, 
Oppressed  by  sordid  loneliness. 

'Tis  lonely  e  'en  'mid  crowded  throngs- 
It  shrinks  as  in  a  Titan's  clutch, 

And  for  that  recognition  longs 

Which  sooths  it  with  a  kindred  touch. 

Though  wealth  and  pomp  and  pleasure  tread 
In  robes  of  ermine  and  of  gold, 

It  in  the  desert  dwells  instead, 
Or  on  some  Alpine  summit  cold. 

Then  whether  rich  or  poor  my  lot 
Or  howsofar  compelled  to  roam; 

I'll  seek  to  find  that  quiet  spot, 

Wherein  content  my  heart's  at  home. 


OLD   BEN 

Old  Ben  the  boisterous. 

On  his  lips  a  snarl; 
Seeking  for  a  quarrel  with  us, 

Curses  he  must  hurl; 
Rum  has  warped  his  countenance, 

Warped  his  temper  too; 
Thus  goes  Ben  the  boisterous, 
Vile  and  base  to  view. 

Old  Ben  the  boisterous, 

Lips  from  snarls  set  free, 
Seeks  no  more  to  fuss  with  us, 

Has  tranquil!  ty ; 
Death  nobility  has  stamped 

On  his  furrowed  brow; 
And  of  Ben  the  boisterous, 

All  is  sacred  now. 


30 


TO  A  SEA-GULL 

You  were  so  much  a  thing  of  mist, 
You  were  so  much  a  creature  ethereal! 
Sometimes  so  uncanny  in  your  daring 
That  earth,  sea  and  air  seemed  unrep'l, 
All  life  was  but  enchantment. 

Fierce  winds  across  the  heads  but  gave  you  pleasure, 
White  tempests  that  turned  the  sea  to  mountains, 
That  sent  vast  cargoes  upon  the  furious  rocks, 
And  thousands  on  the  voyage  of  eternity, 
Were  to  you,  thing  of  spirit,  but  heaps  of  joy. 

You  were  so  intimate  with  the  flying  spume, 

The  splitting  rock,  the  appalling  cliff; 

You  were  so  close  in  touch  with  the  crushing  wave, 

The  terrifying,  engulfing  deep; 

I  believed  you  were  invulnerable— 

The  spirit  of  Hephaestus  come  again. 

You  had  become  the  brother  of  Dea-th 

And  Death  not  dark  but  merry-lipped; 

I  could  not  believe  the  dank,  black  thing  below 

Advancing,  receding,   showing  its  hungry  white   teeth 

Was  waiting  for  a  victim,  was  waiting  for  you. 

Very  real  was  boyhood's  concept  of  death, 
Very  real  but  memory  of  it  had  paled; 
Consciousness  of  it  had  grown  dim; 
I  feared  it  no  longer,  helped  on  by  you, 
At  most  a  mirage  to  be  avoided  by  daring. 

Now  at  sight  of  you  how  my  high  hopes  fall, 
You  who  played  the  game  so  bravely! 
Unconsciously  I  had  built  up  hopes, 
Built  up,  helped  on  by  you,  that  death  was  not, 
At  least  was  not  for  you  and  me. 

Your  folded  wings  bespeak  the  inevitable. 
And  now  by  every  wind  that  cuts  the  wave, 
By  every  wave  that  smites  the  rock, 
By  every  storm  that  churns  the  deep, 
May  I  play  the  game  no  less  bravely. 

31 


NOW   COURAGE    HEART 

Now,  courage,  Heart!  stand  true  and  fast, 

Surmount  obstructing  steeps; 
Though  storms  affright,   they  cannot  last 

To  him  who  vigil  keeps; 
When  fears  beset  they  may  undo, 
Unless  thou  keep  the  goal  in  view. 

Toil  on  and  thou  shalt  surely  come 
To  restful  heights   'neath  azure  skies; 

And  have  reward  through  all  life's  sum 
Which  comes  to  him  who  truly  tries; 

New  light  will  come  as  thou  ascendesi, 

If  faith  and  hope  with  courage  blendest. 


WAITING 

I  saw  the  patient  sea, 
Beautiful  in  its  movements; 
In  a  lone  place  I  saw  it, 
Where  the  fog  reigns  perpetually, 
Shutting  out  the  brightness, 
Shutting  out  the  love-warmth, 
Shutting  out  the   stars; 
It  never  sees  the  celestial  world, 
Yet  its  mirror  is  turned  upward, 
Polished  and  ready- 
Waiting,  waiting. 

In  an  obscure  canon, 

Far  from  human  habitation, 

Are  banks  of  flowers. 

They  have  the  turquoise  of  the  sky, 

The  warmth  of  the  lava, 

The  flame  of  sunset  gold; 

32 


There  is  symmetry, 
There  is  fragrance, 
There  is  beauty, 

But  no  eyes  to  see,  to  admire — 
Waiting,  waiting. 

I  have  seen  an  aged  widow 
Facing  bravely  on; 
Struggling  with  the  care  of  others, 
Struggling  against  penury, 
Struggling  with  the  burdens  that  are, 
Fighting  against  loneliness, 
Dreading  the  night,  the  day, 
Craving  release  from  toil, 
Praying  Heaven  for  help  — 
Waiting,  waiting. 

Life  and  the  heart-cry — 
Crying  for  fulfillment, 
Crying  for  perfection, 
Crying  for  contiiiunity, 
Longing  for  the  spiritual, 
Longing  for  the  dream-life, 
Longing  for  the  idea]} 
I  shall  sing  of  the  music,  the  welcoming, 
Till  this  half-world  opens  to  its  fellow, 
Singing  helpfully,  working  cheerfully — 
Waiting,  waiting. 


33 


THE    ORANGE     TREE    SPEAKS 

To  the  orange  tree  I  said: 
"Listen,   Orange,   listen; 
Why  do  you  your  blossoms  spread 

Creamy  white  to  glisten? 
When  they'll  but  so  briefly  stay, 
Then  to  earth  and  fade  away, 
With  all  else  that  must  decay- 
Death   they   do   it   christen. 

"Why  give  pain  to  primal  dust 

With  your  agitation! 
When  your  beauty  soon  will  rust, 

Pass   to  desolation ; 
Why  should  you  the  sun  inveigh, 
Shower  of  spring  and  summer  day, 
Struggling  ever  'gainst  decay, 

What's  the  consolation  1" 

Then  the  orange  made  reply: 

"This,  sir,  is  the  reason: 
They  leave  promise  e'er  they  die 

To  give  fruit  in  season; 
Fruit  makes  glad  the  heart  of  man, 
Adding  pleasure  to  life's  span. 
None  with  such  abundance  can 

Give  himself  to  treason." 

"Granted  this,  but  still  I  claim 
Fruit,  too,  passes  quickly; 

And  if  this  be  all  your  aim, 
Then  your  reason's  sickly; 

Why  excite  the  humble  dust! 

Birth-throes  surely  are  unjust, 

Fail  your  every  promise  must, 
E'en  though  showered  thickly." 

Frankly,  then,  replied  the  tree, 

Smiling  but  denying: 
"Birth-throes  set  the  dust  aglee. 

'Tis  the  Plan  applying; 

34 


Tree  and  flower  and  fruited  mirth, 
Prince  and  peasant  who  tread  the  earth, 
Owe  to  dust  the  gift  of  birth- 
There 's  no  need  of  sighing. 

Beauty  and  passion  now  astir 

Join  in  this  excelling; 
Dust  and  flame  with  love  as  spur, 

Earth  with  life,  are  swelling; 
Though  to  dust  all  must  return, 
Each  shall  live  again  and  yearn 
Still  to  live — they  death  will  spurn- 
Life  is  so  impelling." 


PEARY 

(Discovered  the  North  Pole,  April  6,  1909) 

With  heart  of  oak  that  feared  not  Tethy's  ire, 
He  steered  his  bark  into  the  icy  vasts — 

A  Wainamoinen  daring  to  aspire 

To  mighty  conquest  'midst  northland  blasts. 

Not  his  the  fear  of  dread  Plutonian  caves, 
Where  storied  monsters  greedily  await; 

Nor  hungry  maelstrom  on  whose  gyring  waves 
The  mariner  is  hurled  to  «§  awful  fate. 

Nor  yet  chill  Boreas  whose  whited  breath 
Turns  seas  to  glass,  congeals  the  heart's  red  blood; 

Nor  lethal  chasms — one  step  to  icy  death— 
Nor  Titan  hills  of  cold  obstruction's  flood. 

He  braved  the  battlements  of  reigning  Night, 
When  Phoebus  turned  his  jealous  smile  away; 

E'en  Ashtoreth,  with  all  her  jeweled  might, 
Waxed  dim  or  fled  with  Dawn  and  fickle  Day. 

The  doom  of  Franklin  and  our  own  Delong, 
True  Knights  of  Conquest,  did  not  him  appall; 

His  life's  fell  purpose  'gainst  Terror's  throng, 
Was  set  to  conquer  this  terrestrial  ball. 

35 


Though  Valkyrs  with  swift  steeds  and  flaming  spears 
Made  choice  of  one  to  hear  Valhalla's  call, 

He  faltered  not  but  calmed  all  rising  fears 
By  faith  in  One  who  hears  the  sparrow's  fall. 

Thus  strongly  armed,  this  doughty  Argonaut 

Slew  the  fierce  Minataur  of  icy  space; 
Brought  back  the  prize  for  which  long  years  he  sought, 

With  honor  to  his  flag  and  to  his  race. 

To  him  we  grant  the  laurel  wreath  and  crown, 
Nor  wait  the  pall  to  give  him  tardy  praise ; 

Achievement  his,  unequaled  in  renown, 
To  him  this  day  the  victor's  paean  raise. 

April,  1911. 

WHISPERS 

(East  of  Chicago) 

Wigwams  dotting  the  levels  and  the  hills, 
Emerald  chains  with  tawny  gold  pendants  round  about, 
Smoke  and  haze  pervading  from  some  giant  breathing, 
Airplanes  honking  and  arrowing; 

Choice  fruit  of  early  parents  in  huge  heaps, 
Wheels  turning,  boys  with  straws  sucking  joyously, 
Woodchuck  burrowing  deep  in  hillside, 
Muskrat  laying  in  a  big  supply  for  a  long  rest; 

Messengers  hurrying  from  wigwam  to  wigwam, 
They  bear  an  open  secret  but  whisper  it, 
You  have  but  to  listen  to  hear  them  whisper  it; 
It  is  a  wonderful  message! 


36 


THE  AFTERMATH 

Time  moves  along  as  on  the  winds  that  blow, 
While  restless  hearts  groan  in  their  discontent, 
And  speech  with  loud  complaints  is  often  blent; 
The  world  has  changed,  they  say,  and  this  we  know, 
Yet  rarely  reason  why  this  change  is  so. 
Our  usual  patience  oft  is  mostly  spent, 
Because  things  cost,  like  the  high  cost  of  rent. 
If  we'd  recall,  in  searching  cause  of  woe, 
Those  emperors  of  time,  Effect  and  Cause, 
Since  the  world's  orgy  in  the  fields  of  wrath, 
The  reason  for  the  change  would  be  quite  plain, 
For  these  hold  sway  by  inexorable  laws- 
Compel  us  now  to  bear  the  aftermath — 
There's  no  escape,  the  wish  is  all  in  vain. 

This  heritage  of  cause  is  hard  to  bear, 

And  by  lax  ways  we  Ve  tried  full  hard  to  see 

If  from  all  laws  we  might  not  be  set  free, 

But  find  these  laws  are  laws  which  no  man  spare, 

Nor  spare  aught  else  existing  anywhere. 

We've  tried  the  gangster  rule,  would  gangsters  be 

Of  race  or  clan  as  in  antiquity ; 

Sunk  man  below  his  clan  until  his  share 

Of  freedom  was  that  of  a  puppet  man; 

Now  we  are  going  back,  believing  in  the  law, 

Not  that  of  race  or  clan,  but  that  our  fathers  founded; 

We're  a  brotherhood  of  brothers,  wondrous  plan, 

By  Heaven's  will,  the  best  the  world  e'er  saw, 

Each  man  a  MAN,  faith  in  his  fellowman  unbounded. 


37 


MY   CALIFORNIA   STATE 

With  feel  of  soft  winds  blowing, 

And  pleasures  stealing,  growing, 

My  car  glides  on  through  California  State, 

Across  the  landscape  level, 

From  heights  where  snowbanks  revel, 

A-dipping  down  to  greet  the  Golden  Gate. 

I  pass  the  grainfields  golden, 

Like  Scripture  story  olden, 

Where  Ruth  might  glean  and  find  wealth  manifold; 

Through  orchards  orange-fruited 

And  vineyards  to  me  suited, 

Or  mines  where  they  wash  out  the  yellow  gold. 

Then  on  to  trees  appalling, 

To  canons  speech  forestalling, 

And  waterfalls  that  mist  in  space  away; 

The  trout  from  rivers  leaping, 

With  hook  and  line  tryst  keeping, 

Ah,  here  forevermore  I  want  to  stay. 

But  on  my  car  keeps  going, 

While  in  my  heart  is  flowing 

A  song  that  cannot  thwarted  be  by  fate; 

And  with  it  is  the  feeling, 

As  sunset  joys  come  stealing, 

This  is  my  own,  my  California  State. 


AT   CYPRESS   POINT 

Time's  sturdy  tools  of  storm  and  shine 

A  harp  have  fashioned  here; 
Each  cycle  carved  some  scroll  or  line, 
Attuned  some  note  to  cord  divine, 
Upon  the  cypress  tree   *  design 
For  music  soft  and  clear. 

Here  comes  King  Aeolus  to  string 

His  melody  of  song; 
Here  Poisodon  joins  chorusing, 
Their  sounding  voices  upward  wing, 
Uniting  with  the  spheres  that  sing — 

Their  mutual  strains  prolong. 

Anon  the  many-footed  rain 

Falls  with  soft-pedaled  grace; 

Or  silvery  mists  subdue  the  strain, 

While  homing  wings  add  their  refrain, 

E'er  comes  the  surging  hurricane, 

A-boom  with  thundering  base. 

Here  one  may  muse  at  close  of  day 

When  Phoebus  rests  his  car ; 
May  glimpse  the  centuries  at  play; 
They  carve  a  lyric,  pipe  a  lay, 
Or  light  a  dyptytch  with  a  ray, 

Then  haste  to  scenes  afar. 

Man,  like  the  cypress  tree,  must  hold 

To  life's  rock-seamed  span; 
Upon  him  passion's  strains  unfold, 
Play  light  and  soft,  play  harsh  and  bold, 
That  he  may  all  his  nature  mold 

Into  the  master  man. 


(*At  last,  accounts  this  tree  was  still  clinging  to  the 
barren  rocks  in  spite  of  the  thrashing  tempests  and  the 
scorchings  of  blistering  suns.  Its  body  is  gnarled  and 
dwarfed,  yet  it  persists  in  keeping  this  arid,  inhospitable 
spot  green.) 


39 


HONEY-THOUGHTS 

When  I  cut  honey  from  the  comb 
Inwoven  by  a  busy  loom, 
And  eat  it  with  some  bread  and  butter, 
Then  thoughts  just  throng  which  I  must  utter. 

I  feel  the  urge  of  Israel's  lure 

The  milk  and  honey  to  secure, 

And  reach,  though  footsore,  Canaan's  strand, 

Where  such  abundance  filled  the  land. 

I. hear  the  riddle  known  age-long; 
Sweeter  than  sweet  or  lion  strong, 
Which  Sampson  gave  but  told  and  then 
No  stronger  was  than  other  men. 

I  eat  and  taste  the  joys  of  wing- 
Delights  of  outward  journeying, 
Across  green  fields  to  flowery  meads, 
Where  industry  on  nectar  feeds. 

The  gleaners  stand  in  wells  tail-deep, 
While  yellow  pollen  wealth  they  reap; 
Or  pass,  the  clover  to  them  bowing, 
As  though  to  royalty  kotowing. 

The  songs  of  work  are  in  the  air 
But  none  more  fine  than  this  I  share; 
The  homeward  flight  with  fragrant  store 
To  garner  it,  then  off  once  more; 

I  hear  the  chant  of  the  early  dawn, 
The  magic  that  bids  the  night  be  gone, 
The  day's  full  hum  till  twilight's  peace 
Gives  tired  wings  well  earned  release. 

40 


I  find  that  order  is  the  law, 
Hive  harmony  is  without  flaw; 
That  work's  another  term  for  faith 
And  loyalty's  as  strong  as  death. 

This  is  the  lesson  that  I  learn, 
That  gives  life  charm  at  every  turn; 
To  fill  my  place  with  faithful  zest, 
Then  of  all  wealth  I'll  have  the  best. 


WAVES 

Down  to  the  shore  I've  been,  Love, 

Down  to  the  sea; 
I  watched  each  wave  as  it  came  in, 

Watched  it  with  glee; 
I  said:  "I  love  you  every  one, 
I  like  to  see  you  rolling  on, 
Because,  once  in  the  days  agone, 

You  favored  me." 

"How  could  they  favor  you,  Dear, 
Rough,   wilid  their   sway? 

Thus:  In  a  far,  far  land, 
Where  strange  maids  stay, 

I,  homesick,  for  you  cried, 

Each  wave  helped  wind  and  tide, 

Till  I  stood  by  your  side, 
No  more  to  stray. 


41 


THE   POOR   AMERICAN 

Come,  gentle  Waves  and  whisp'ring  Winds 

And  hear  this  my  complaint: 

For  I  was  born  here  in  this  land 

In  Freedom's  unrestraint; 

Here  everybody  has  his  friends, 

His  race  or  fighting  clan, 

But  me — I  am  so  lonesome  here, 

Just  an  American. 

There's  Fritz,  a  true  and  jolly  sport, 
They  cannot  keep  him  down; 
He  was  a  little  weak  in  war, 
But  now  wears  ne'er  a  frown; 
For  he  owns  all  the  land,  it  seems, 
Or  rules  it  to  a  man, 
While  I — I  must  my  silence  keep, 
I'm  an  American. 

And  there  is  Pat,  wise  in  his  years, 
Knew  where  to  be  well  born; 
But  didn't  stay,  he  came  away 
For  room  to  blow  his  horn; 
And  everybody  speaks  for  him, 
"Down  trodden  is  his  clan," 
While  I — I  am  so  lonesome  here, 
Just  an  American. 

The  Johnnies  and  Canucks  are  here, 

Come  from  a  better  shore, 

But  stay  because  while  here  they  may 

Speak   louder   than  before; 

And  go  about  like  mighty  lords, 

I'm  glad  all  comers  can; 

But  I — I  must  my  silence  keep, 

I'm    an    American. 


42 


The  pale-haired  Swede,  the  Parley- Voo, 

The  Dago,  Jap  and  Dane, 

The  Vix-o-vokx  and  the  Vox-o-Vikx 

Are  here  and  will  remain; 

They're  in  the  lead,  head  the  parade 

With  chests  bulged  out  a  span, 

While  I — I  am  so  lonesome  here, 

I'm   an  American. 

Just  once  I  felt  a  thrill  of  joy; 
They  wanted  men  who'd  fight; 
And  make  Democracy  secure, 
For  aye  men's  highest  right; 
But  when  I  came  back  home  again 
My  every  word  they'd  scan, 
And  silence  now  I  have  to  keep— 
I'm  an  American. 

Oh,  Waves  and  Sympathizing  Winds; 

Would  I'd  been  born  elsewhere, 

In  Borriogoola  Grha  or  Yap, 

In  Fizzum  or  Bzoghzxair; 

For  then  I  might  be  reckoned  in, 

Perhaps  be  called  a  man; 

I'd  not  be  then  so  lonesome  quite 

As  an  American. 


43 


THE   FLIGHT 

The   air-ship   climbed   the   vaulted   height, 

The  flier 's  fears  protesting; 
Each  circle  on  the  ambient  air, 
Rose  higher  as  on  Babel 's  stair, 
Save  here  confusion  found  no  share, 

The  course  or  speed  arresting. 

At  last  the  craft  triumphant  bore 

Him    'gainst   opposing  "forces; 
Among  the  stars  so  big  and  round, 
And  silences  sweet  as  profound, 
He  wished  no  more  to  see  the  ground, 
But  float  in  starry  courses. 

And  so  time's  ship  bears  us  along, 

Unto  the  silent  spaces; 
We  aviators  dread  the  flight, 
But  once  arrived  and  all  is  bright, 
No  more  wre'll  wish  e'en  for  a  sight, 

Of  earth  or  mortal  places. 


THE  RIVER'S  TORRENT 

Thou  art  a  symbol  of  abounding  life, 

Lusty  and  eager  in  thy  onward  course; 
Gaily  song-brooding  and  with  incense  rife 

Thou  wend'st  with  rhythmic  cadence  from  thy  source. 

Symbol  again  of  death,  thy  sullen  power, 
Resistless,  as  the  law  of  change,  thy  way; 

Thou  sweep 'st  aside  like  playthings  of  an  hour 
Obstruction's  labored  bulwarks  'gainst  thy  sway. 


44 


THERE  ARE  NOBLER  THINGS 

I  know  a  peace-topped  mount  I  call  "Heartsease," 
For  situation  nature  made  wise  choice; 

There  e'en  in  heated  summer  blows  a  breeze, 
And  birds  make  glad  the  day  with  sylvan  voice. 

There  first  the  manzanita  opes  its  bloom 
And  fills  its  chalices  with  dewy  store; 

There  round  the  flowery  buckthorn  bees  resume 
Their  eager  task  to  garner  sweets  once  more. 

A  gurgling  rill  from  higher  ground  trips  down 
'Neath  the  madrona  and  the  darksome  yew; 

A  dimpled  fringe  of  cress  in  emerald  gown 
Mid  fern-clad  rocks  enchants  the  fairy  view. 

There  pastures  grow  for  the  industrious  kine, 
Which  climb  the  rugged  trails  to  this  retreat; 

And,  having  fed,  beneath  the  trees  recline 

To  chew  contentment's  cud  well-earned  and  sweet. 

There  oft  I  climb  when  weary  of  the  strife, 
To  hear  the  tinkling  bells  of  sweet  content; 

'Tis  there  I  find  rejuvenation's  fife 
Woos  back  life's  best,  its  crowning  blandishment. 

I  find  surcease  from  fell  ambition's  sway — 
No  urge  to  wealth  nor  fame's  exalted  goal; 

And  Heav'n  bends  near  and  whispers  low  to  say: 
"There 're  nobler  things  to  satisfy  the  soul." 


45 


THADDEUS   KEARNS 

"Why  do  men  sigh  and  women  weep?" 

"Oh!  stranger,  this  is  why: 
The  Reaper  has  been  here  to  reap— 
Took  one  we  so  much  wished  to  keep; 
Called  him  to  enter  his  long  sleep, 

Who  was  o'er  young  to  die. 

His  name  was  Kearns,  you'll  want  to  know, 

We  mostly  called  him  Thad; 
He  was  the  bravest  lad  to  go, 
Where  danger  lurked  by  tests  to  show 
How  science  could  overcome  a  foe, 

That  progress  might  be   had. 

Although  so  young,  with  earnest  care 

He  toiled  at  his  machine; 
Until,  by  skill  and  genius  rare, 
He  could  with  it  fly  anywhere, 
Upon  the  coy  and  mystic  air, 

The  earth  and  sky  between. 

And  when  success  his  efforts  crown  'd, 

As  they  deserved  to  be; 
He  like  an  eagle  left  the  ground, 
Winged  high  his  flight  and  round  and  round— 
With  cheers  the  echoes  did  resound, 

It  was  a  sight  to  see. 

Achievement's  pride  was  in  the  face 

Of  our  ambitious  Thad; 
Though  as  he  flew  from  place  to  place, 
His  thoughts  were  of  the  human  race- 
Hoped  better  things  would  come  apace, 

Through  him  to  make  them  glad. 

He  was  so  gentle,  true  and  kind, 

Courageous  from  his  birth; 
But  valor  nor  fine  traits  of  mind, 
Could  save  him  when  a  wing  declined 
To  serve  its  purpose  as  designed, 

And  all  crashed  to  the  earth. 

46 


A  dreadful  moment  filled  with  pain, 

To  see  our  brave  boy  fall! 
He  gave  his  life  yet  not  in  vain; 
He'd  surely  give  it  o'er  again, 
If  a  perfected  aeroplane, 

He  could  provide  for  all. 

And  so  men  sigh  and  maidens  weep, 
For  hero  Thaddeus  Kearns; 

Through  times  to  sow  and  times  to  reap, 

His  name  they'll  ever  sacred  keep; 

And  though  he  yonder  lies  asleep, 
The  heart  still  for  him  yearns." 


FINDING  LIFE'S  GOLD 

.  * *».. . 

t 

Day  after  day,  week  after  toilsome  week, 

I  heard  the  miner's  thudding  pick  and  drill; 
Begrimed  he  was  with  toil  and  sweat  and  mud, 

Yet  daily  grew  the  tunnel  by  his  will — 
Grew  as  he  breasted  down  the  stubborn  clay 

And  wheeled  it  out  and  cast  it  down  the  slope, 
Pausing  betimes  to  take  a  moment's  rest, 

Then  on  again  with  never  failing  hope. 

< <  Why  work  so  hard, ' '  I  asked,  ' i  and  spend  your  means, 
When  not  a  grain  of  gold  have  you  yet  found  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  sir,  the  gold  is  there,  God  put  it  there, 
And  I  shall  find  it  when  I  reach  gold-bearing  ground. ' ' 

To  have  the  miner's  faith  has  been  my  prayer, 
When  come,  as  will,  the  days  of  doubt  and  dearth; 

To  have  clear  vision — no  figs  on  thistles  grow — 
These  joined  with  work  will  find  the  gold  of  earth. 


47 


TO    MISTER    GEORGE    STERLING 

Fill  up,  fill  up,  once  more,  the  cup, 
When  sparkling  flows  the  wine; 

And  give  us  each  another  sup 
Of  fancy  such  as  thine. 

Watch  once  again  that  ruddy  glow, 
Muse  at  that  shrine  so  rich, 

Where  wizardry  is  wont  to  show 
The  things  that  so  bewitch. 

Call  maidens  forth  and  ardent  souls, 

By  divination  seen; 
Then  wottled  monsters,  bloody  ghouls, 

With  hungry  growl  and  mien. 

Bid  Hecate  lift  her  cowl  once  more, 

Let  Circe  poisons  spread; 
While  Satan  holds  one  flayed  and  sore 

Whose  shrieks  but  pleasure  shed. 

Take  us  to  fell  Tartarian  fires, 

Undominate  of  men; 
Appease  once  more  our  deep  desires 

By  magic  of  thy  pen. 


48 


THE  CHAIN  OF  SILENCE 

In  days  agone,  when  Time  was  passing  young 

And  Thought  still  fluttered  on  its  fledgling  wings; 
E're  Memory  had  writ  on  scroll  outflung, 

And  Aeolus  alone  tuned  vocal  strings; 
There  were  in  ancient  Erin  mystic  bards 

Who  caught  their  rhythmic  notes  upon  the  wind 
And  sang  their  lays  so  soft  that  merest  shards 

Alone  are  left  to  the  enquiring  mind. 

The  gist  and  burden  of  that  ancient  lay 

Howe'er   engossamered  in  silky  myth, 
Yet  holds  a  pregnant  message  for  today — 

A  dole  of  wisdom  'tis  if  not  the  pith; 
Yet  ye  shall  judge  and  here  the  substance  know, 

As  it  has  ambled  down  the  trails  of  time, 
In  mystic  symbols  of  the  long  ago, 

In  runic,  Gaelic  and  Druidic  rhyme. 

In  those  rude  days,  when  brutal  war  held  reign, 

And  men  were  bound  in  tribes  to  live  or  fall, 
Chanced  hordes  of  Finns  and  Gauls  to  sail  the  main 

To  the  Green  Isle;  its  beauty  cast  its  thrall 
Till  each  to  win  it  sought  in  deadly  fight; 

Sometimes  the  Finns,  sometimes  the  Gauls  won  out, 
And  still  they  fought,  so  dear  the  prize  in  sight, 

Yet  neither  could  the  other  put  to  route. 

At  length,  when  most  were  wearied,  weak  and  sore, 

And  dank  the  field  lay  covered  with  the  slain, 
The  rank-and-file  hard-wished  the  conflict  o'er, 

When  suddenly  came  winging  by  a  chain! 
All  knew  the  gods  ' '  The  Chain  of  Silence ' '  sent 

And  sprang  to  grasp  nor  would  their  hold  release, 
But  shook  from  it  such  tones  with  magic  blent, 

That  Finn  and  Gaul  forever  dwelt  in  peace. 

49 


OUR  LOVE  SHALL  LIVE 

The  day  is  near  its  close, 
Dear,   come  Iwith  me, 

And  let  us  seek  repose 
Beneath  the  orange  tree, 

While  ling 'ring  day  still  shows 
The  homing  bird  and  bee. 

Past  be  the  chafing  day 

With  all  its  care; 
All  shall  be  shut  away, 

Nor  steal  back  unaware, 
That  undisturbed  we  may 

Our-heart-thoughts  share. 

Ah!  now  the  mountains  seem 
In  closer  brotherhood; 

The  river's  silent  gleam 
Speaks  only  gratitude, 

And  all  the  valley's  dream 
Is  wreathed  in  plenitude. 

The  roundelay  of  time 

Runs  sweetly  on; 
Celestial  chant  and  chime, 

In  soothing  carillon, 
Breathe  out  angelic  rhyme 

Beyond  comparison. 

Ne'er  was  the  world  so  full 

Of  sentient  gold; 
Nor  wine  of  richer  mull, 

However  old; 
Nor  fragrance  wonderful 

Ne'er  to  be  told. 

50 


The  city  with  its  fame 

Of  pick  and  pan, 
Still  shines  with  lustrous  name 

And  may  again 
As  when  far-faring  came 

Wealth-seeking  man. 

A  wealth  we  have  more  rare 
Than  what  they  sought; 

No  more  was  sun  or  air 
By   gold   e'er  bought, 

It  lightens  every  care 
Just  as  it  ought. 

This  we  will  keep  for  aye- 
Will  you  and  I; 

The  ills  that  fret  and  fray 
Shall  pass  it  by; 

And  though  all  else  decay, 
This  shall  not  die. 


SEA  ROCKS 

(To ) 

I  saw  sea  rocks  with  green  grass  growing,      « 
Clinging  in  spite  of  thrust  and  thrash  of  storm; 
I  saw  mountain  lava  nourishing  bright  flowers, 
Bright  although  all  soil  seemed  washed  away. 

Life's  thrash  and  storm,  its  lava's  harshness,  yes; 
But  sparkling  above  them  and  through  them  is  your  love, 
Brighter  than  green  moss,  fairer  than  springing  flowers ; 
And  memories  of  you  are  far  more  sweetly  fragrant. 


51 


SWEET   MADNESS 

There  is  sweet  madness  in  the  air, 
In  surge  of  life  and  buyant  hope; 

It  thrills  the  breeze,  the  dawn's  more  fair, 
And  every  joy  is  bursting  ope. 

With  panting  breath,  the  Southwind  comes, 
Its  vagrant  footsteps  sounding  near; 

The  crested  quail  the  signal  drums, 
And  Earth  is  glad  for  Spring  is  here. 

With  regal  smile,  she  takes  command, 
Drives  off  the  gaoled,  old  and  gray ; 

Sets  free  her  jewels — key  in  hand, 
To  robe  earth  gayest  of  the  gay. 

With  swiftest  pace  and  velvet  tread, 
She  stirs  to  rapture  vale  and  crest; 

Persuades  all  creatures  now  to  wed, 
For  of  all  seasons  this  is  best. 

Each  bud  is  touched  with  lover's  kiss, 

Each  bursting  flower  with  passion's  flame; 

They  radiate  their  store  of  bliss, 
In  honor  of  the  reigning  dame. 

The  orange  and  the  olive  glow, 

New  verdure  crowns  with  festive  green; 
And  in  their  veins  new  nectars  flow, 

To  thurify  their  snowy  sheen. 

The  Feather  speeds,  with  banks  a-flush, 
To  join  in  nuptial  touch  the  sea; 

There's  chirp  and  song  and  wings  a-rush — 
To  mate  and  nest  is  ecstacy. 

Man  too  rejuvenescence  feels— 

An  urgent  impulse  in  his  song; 
Finds  more  of  pleasure — joy  reveals — 

When  this  sweet  madness  comes  along. 

52 


STAR   TOKEN 

Love,  'tis  hard  to  go  away, 
Duty  calls,  I  must  obey; 
But  this  token  we  may  hold, 
That  our  love  may  not  grow  cold; 
When  yon  star  comes  into  view, 
Keep  this  thought,  I  love  but  you. 

We  may  parting  bravely  bear 
If  this   confidence   we   share; 
Though  beyond  some  mountain  height, 
Distance  keeps  me  from  your  sight, 
Still  when  comes  that  star  to  view, 
Keep  this  thought — I  love  but  you. 

Life's  uncertainties  you  fear, 
I  fear  naught  when  you  are  near. 
Should  I  die  upon  the  main, 
Or  in  battle  front  be  slain, 
When  yon  star  comes  into  view, 
Know  I  died  still  loving  you. 


TOLSTOY'S    REGRET 

"  Spoke  amiss  to  Ozeroff," 
Wrote  the  Count,  the  lov'd  Lyoff, 
When  reflection's  voice  he  heard — 
Wished  he  could  recall  the  word. 

Oh,  the  hearts  that  ache  to-day! 
Words  like  swords  may  wound  and  slay; 
Seems  they  're  worse  these  times  than  others, 
Though  Christ  said  all  men  are  brothers. 

This  be  then  our  high  resolve, 
While  time  may  for  us  revolve: 
Ne'er  by  word  or  deed  or  scoff 
Speak  amiss  to  Ozeroff. 

53 


INTOLERANCE  OF  THE  SEA 

Across  the  waste,  along  the  tide-washed  vasts, 
Where  Ocean  oft  her  unclean  refuse  casts; 
Where  froth  and  spittle  from  her  raging  greed 
Bedeck  the  scene  and  noisome  vapors  breed; 
Where  birds  of  carrion  cast  their  lot, 
And  sea-kelp  rots  and  sea-craft  moan  forgot— 
The  wrecks  that  once  for  freedom  dared  to  cope 
And  bore  the  flag  of  happiness  and  hope— 
I  thoughtful  walked  along  the  dreary  miles 
(I  long  since  learned  that  earth  is  not  all  smiles), 
That  I  might  plumb  and  sense  the  inner  mood 
Which  could  lay  waste  so  much  with  naught  of  good. 

I  watched  the  tide  spread  o'er  the  wide  expanse, 

And  this  conclusion  came  with  its  advance: 

The  Ocean  has  of  this  vast  waste  no  need, 

She  only  takes  to  satisfy  her  greed; 

Her  share  of  earth  is  not  enough  to  throne, 

She  would  all  other  higher  parts  pull  down 

To  her  own  level  if  power  were  but  given, 

And  taint  with  lethal  mists  e  'en  turquoise  heaven ; 

Yet  such  her  mien  and  such  her  aspect  bold, 

Since  first  her  blighting  waves  she  shoreward  rolled, 

That  man  has  always  taken  it  for  granted 

That  she  must  have  whatever  thing  she  wanted. 

Always?    Not  so;  e'en  as  I  walked  along, 
I  saw  where  men  had  built  a  barrier  strong 
To  balk  the  sea,  and  built  a  city  tall, 
Secure  at  last  within  that  sturdy  wall ; 
Lived  happily  with  freedom's  voice  and  cheer 
Until  the  sea  began  that  wall  to  tear — 


54 


Worked  stealthily,  removing  stone  by  stone, 
Until  at  last  the  fatal  work  was  done; 
Then  came  the  fall  which  weeping  heaven  feared, 
That  splendid  city   'neath  Ocean  disappeared; 
And,  all  was  lost !    No,  no,  not  all  went  down, 
Man's  courage  still  immortal  no  sea  could  drown. 

Through  hardship,  blood  and  toil  of  many  years, 

The  misery  of  hope  deferred,  of  heartache  and  of  tears, 

The  new  wall  stands,  this  time  on  newer  ground, 

A  newer  city  too  is  built  and  splendors  new  are  found; 

Once  more  the  city  joys ;  once  more  is  blind 

To  peril,  for  e  'en  now  she 's  undermined ; 

Her  constant  foe  has  found  the  wall's  weak  spot, 

Nor  will  the  city  heed,  her  former  fate  forgot; 

She  laughs  at  warning  and  says  some  salt  sea  spray 

Or  e'en  some  waves  would  help  on  bathing  day; 

Thus  is  she  doomed  to  fall  just  as  before ; 

Thus  wins  the  sea  until  men  build  once  more. 


55 


THE  LIVING  MAY  NOT  BE  LIVING 
THE  DEAD  MAY  NOT  BE  DEAD 

The  old  man  sighed,  his  hair  was  gray  and  thin, 
Yet  with  firm  voice  this  story  told  to  me : 

"When  we  were  wed — that's  where  I'd  best  begin- 
All  said  it  was  a  love-match  verily; 

None  were  more  truly  mated  in  all  the  country  round, 

None  more  by  Heaven  favored  where'er  they  might  be 
found. 

The  truth  of  this,  Time  proved  in  ample  measure. 

Our  happiness  increased  when  children  came — 
A  pair  of  them  enhancing  every  pleasure, 

Winsome  and  sturdy,  a  credit  to  our  name. 
And  thus  we  proudly  lived  year  after  happy  year, 
The  children's   play  and  prattle  adding   daily  to   our 

cheer. 

Then  came  the  time  the  mother  went  away, 

A  voyage  of  some  weeks,  then  to  return 
To  our  wee  Paradise  always  to  stay, 
Nor  more  to  leave  us  lone  for  her  to  yearn ; 
But  e're  she  went  away,  she  had  our  tintypes  taken, 
That  parted,  we  might  not  seem  utterly  forsaken. 

And  then  she  sailed!"    The  old  man  wiped  a  tear. 
'  '  Ah,  that  was  a  sad  day  when  her  ship  sailed ; 
But  she  was  brave  and  stilled  our  every  fear, 
Though  had  we  known,  our  hearts  had  surely  quailed, 
For  'twas  her  own  good  ship  was  wrecked  and  all  were 

drowned, 
Save  but  a  few,  herself  on  a  strange  shore  was  found. 

When  she  revived,  the  natives  were  most  kind, 
But  as  a  friendly  prisoner  she  was  kept; 
She  hoped  for  passing  ship,  but  no  escape  could  find, 
Though  hoping  still,  tears  fell  oft  when  she  slept. 

56 


But  from  the  wreck,  she  'd  saved  our  tintypes  in  her 

dress, 
To  these  she  prayed  each  night,  her  penates  in  distress. 

Intolerable  days  became  remorseless  years, 
With  naught  but  toil  her  loneliness  to  ease 
And  the  small  picture  shrine  to  feel  her  tears, 
And  think  of  loved  ones ;  these  did  some  appease ; 
While   we — through    all    those    cruel  years    our   hearts 

would  burn 
Whene'er  we  thought  of  her  and  that  she'd  still  return. 

The  years  ran  on,  decade  after  decade; 

The  children,  grown,  had  married  and  were  gone; 

Alone  I  worshipped  her,  her  memory  would  not  fade, 

But  stayed  as  fresh  as  each  returning  dawn; 

Then,  by  some  miracle  of  chance,  her  letter  reached  a 

fort, 
An  English  ship  sent  off  a  boat,  took  her  to  her  home 

port. 

I  saw  her  coming  up  the  winding  walk, 
A  mendicant,  so  wrinkled,  faded,  old! 
She  looked  me  over  hard  before  she'd  talk: 
*I  am  your  wife,  if  rightly  I've  been  told, 
Though  you  are  most  too  aged,  must  have  been  your  son, 
For  thirty  years  have  passed  since  I  his  features  looked 
upon. ' 

I  felt  a  shock,  but  did  not  tell  her  so; 

For  thirty  years  sums  up  a  woman's  life, 

The  rest  is  mere  existence;  she  would  know 

About  the  children;  each  had  a  husband,  wife, 

I  said,  and  brought  them  home;  but  them  she  did  not 

know, 
Nor  could  they  call  her  mother  as  in  the  long  ago. 

57 


Those  cruel  years!    She  looked  at  us  again, 
A  stranger  'mongst  the  strange,  yet  of  her  kin; 
Emotion  shook  her  as  of  some  inward  pain; 
Then  glimpsed  the  tintype,  put  it  her  bosom  in; 
'I  will  not  stay,  I'd  rather  with  your  memories  live 
Than  with  you,  flesh  and  blood,  and  all  that  you  can  give. ' 

And  I — I  could  not  bid  her  stay, 

Now  that  she  had  become  a  memory 

With  a  dear  sister,  dead  long  years  away, 

When  Death  and  Change  seemed  cruel  hard  to  me; 

For  now,  my  friend,  I  know  the  living  may  be  dead, 

The  dead,  not  dead,  a  living  luster  round  us  shed. 


ON  TAMALPAIS 

On  Tamalpais  the  summer  evening's  breeze 
Blows  soft  and  cool,  sweet-odored  of  the  brine— 

Rare-spiced  with  cedrine  fragrance  of  the  trees; 

The  heated  hills  rejoice  and  down  the  banner 'd  dome, 

The  steeds  of  Phaeton's  swift  car  dip  in  the  foam, 
And  drink  of  fair  Pacific's  blood-red  wine. 

Soft  robed  the  shades  of  twilight's  purpled  hour, 
Advance  their  hosts  with  silent  majesty; 

Unfurl  their  pennants,  speed  their  mystic  power, 

Till  the  last  flaming  battlements  of  day 

Red-throated  yield  and  own  triumphant  sway 
Mid  the  soft  sobbing  of  the  night-bound  sea. 

Now  all  is  hush'd  save  the  faint-fluted  tones 
Of  wild  fowl  honking  home  from  sedgy  strand ; 

The  tired  earth,  hot-brow 'd,  allegience  owns 

To  Stygian  night;  the  vast  infinitude 

Primordial  rests  in  peaceful  mood, 

Full  trusting  in  Omniscience'  guiding  hand. 

58 


THEODORE 

At  Oyster  Bay  they  laid  him, 

That  heart  of  meteor  fires ; 
And  simple  rites  they  paid  him 

To  heed  his  last  desires. 
There  his  first  rest  he 's  taking, 

This  soul  so  gentle,  strong, 
Until  the  new  awaking, 

This  fighter -of  the  wrong. 

To  Oyster  Bay  the  nations 

Come  with  their  meeds  of  praise; 
They  vie  in  approbations, 

And  paeans  to  him  raise. 
They  laud  him  as  a  great  man, 

Like  Caesar  was  of  old, 
An  author,  warrior,  statesman, 

With  courage  ever  bold. 

These  claims  are  true  we  doubt  not, 

But  we,  all  claims  above, 
Just  loved  him  'cause  he  fought  not 

Without  a  heart  of  love — 
Of  honor  and  true  loyalty — • 

By  these  his  soul  was  fired; 
They  marked  him  of  earth 's  royalty, 

As  one  by  Heaven  inspired. 

The  nations  may  beqyeath  him 

A  fame. the  world  calls  great; 
But  we,  we  will  just  wreath  him 

For  those  finer  things  of  state; 
And  love  of  home  and  laughter, 

For  clean,  refining  song; 
Oh!  we'll  miss  him  ever  after, 

This  fighter  of  the  wrong. 

Theodore  Boosevelt,  twenty-sixth  President  of  the 
United  States;  born  Nov.  27,  1858;  died  Jan.  6,  1921. 


59 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  ROAD 

Why,  man,  you  surely  have  a  heart, 
That's  big  and  kind  as  any  king's; 

This  ham  and  eggs  and  custard  tart, 
And  coffee,  cream  and  other  things- 
Say,  this  is  great  as  great,  by  Jings! 

First  time  in  weeks  that  I've  been  warm, 
Or  had  real  vittles  such  as  these ; 

I  clean  forget  the  chilling  storm— 
The  rheumatiz  has  left  my  knees, 
And  I  could  go  to  sleep  with  ease. 

More  coffee!    Well,  yes,  I  don't  care, 
Such  feed  would  most  excuse  delays; 

What  say?    Want  me  to  stay  right  here! 
You've  work  and  food  for  all  my  days! 
Ah,  no!   Ill  luck's  for  him  who  stays. 

There  is  a  call,  when  once  you've  heard, 
To  other  calls  dulls  every  sense; 

A  voice  that  lures  you,  like  a  bird, 
From  zone  to  zone  with  confidence — 
Impels  you  on,  you  know  not  whence. 

It  comes  to  me  when  winds  blow  soft, 
And  in  the  storm  that  numbs  the  blood ; 

'Tis  in  the  star-shine  up  aloft', 
The  dawn,  the  sunset's  crimson  flood, 
As  when  the  sea's  in  an  angry  mood. 

'Tis  in  the  meadows  jeweled  white, 
In  woods  that  piney  smells  impart; 

'Tis  in  the  whisperings   of  the  night, 
In  dreams  that  through  my  slumbers  dart, 
And  thrills  anew  my  vagrant  heart. 

60 


oftenest  it  calls  afar, 
Beyond  the  blue  horizon 's  rim; 
Then  swift  I'm  off,  no  steel  can  bar, 
Nor  hunger,  cold,  nor  wearied  limb, 
Nor  perils  can  the  vision  dim. 

I've  followed  by  far  Cathay's  wall; 
I've  trod  the  spicy  marts  of  Ind; 

Gazed  on  Teheran's  spires  tall, 
And  felt  the  spell  Bagdad  may  bind 
Upon  the  pleasure-loving  mind. 

Twelve  times  your  country  I  have  crossed; 
The  world  around  six  times  or  more; 

On  every  sea  been  tempest  tossed, 
And  still  I  hear,  from  distant  shore, 
That  call  compelling   as  before. 

What  say!    Why  listen  to  the  voice? 
Not  best  to  be  a  rolling  stone? 

Ah,  sir,  in  this  I  have  no  choice; 
Not  mine  to  do  or  let  alone, 
But  on  and  on  from  zone  to  zone. 

Yes,  I'm  a  transient  I'm  aware, 
Though  why  'tis  thus  I  cannot  say; 

I  only  know  I  may  not  dare 

To  slight  the  call;  perhaps  some  day 
'Twill  cease  to  lure  me  far  away. 

But  now,  each  path,  each  winding  road, 
Casts  o'er  me  its  enchanting  spell; 

So  I  must  leave  your  kind  abode, 
To  journey  whither?    Who  can  tell? 
And  now  goodbye,  a  long  farewell. 


61 


EVENING  ON  THE  RANCH 

(The  author  begs  leave  to  present  his  own 
version  of  this  subject.) 

Bright  Phoebus  lingers  in  the  West, 

Before  his  plunge  into  the  main; 
And  o'er  the  landscape,  vale  and  crest, 

The  shades  of  evening  come  again. 

Up  from  the  river's  leafy  glade, 

The  dairy  herd  plods  dusty  trails; 

Old  Brindle  leads  the  cavalcade, 

Where  milkers  will  fill  foaming  pails. 

O'er  distant  foothills  comes  the  sound 
Of  bleating  flocks  and  herder's  call; 

His  skillful  collies  circle  round, 
Till  all   are  safe  in  the  corral. 

Domestic  fowls  seek  roosting  place, 
Dogs  bark,  the  swine  call  to  be  fed, 

And  calves  and  colts  run  race  on  race 
E'er  banished  to  their  spacious  shed. 

From  furrowed  fields  the  plowboys  wend, 
Glad  that  the  day  has  reached  its  close; 

They  to  their  tired  teams  attend, 

E'er  " clang"  the  supper  call-bell  goes. 

Goose-herders  break  their  wheatfield  tryst, 
And  trappers  who  would  gophers  kill; 

Squirrel  pois'ners  too  are  on  the  list, 
And  those  who  water  ditches  fill. 

From  orchard,  vineyard  and  the  field, 
Thus  gathers  round  a  motley  crew; 

Each's  for  his  Homeland*  but  all  yield, 
When  Cheng  brings  in  the  mutton  stew. 

The  foreman  now  can  find  no  fault, 

No  urge  to  work  with  lusty  will ; 
Though  most,  he  swears,  don't  earn  their  salt, 

They  here  display  the  highest  skill. 

62 


The  repast  o'er,  some  play  at  games, 
Some  chew  or  smoke  dread  nicotine; 

Some  fight  old  battles — frightful  names, 
Yet  never  battle  have  they  seen. 

Now,  to  their  bunks;  all  earth  is  still, 
Save  night  jar's  plaintive  notes  afar; 

The  orange  blossoms  fragrance  spill, 

'Neath  moon's  , pale  beam  and  twinkling  star. 

*(i.  e.    Each  praises  his  native  land.) 


HATE   STILL  ABIDES 

"Why  was  He  slain?"  a  comrade  asked, 
As  they  the  Cross  passed  by  that  day; 

The  other  gazed,  then  made  reply: 
"He  said  'hate  should  be  put  away.' 

If  that  were  done  all  creeds  would  fall, 
No  want  of  Heaven,  no  need  of  hell; 

Attorneys  then  would  surely  starve, 
Our  learned  judges  too  as  well. 

Our  laws  would  all  be  swept  away, 
Ten  thousand  tomes  in  costly  sheep, 

Save  one  of  plainly  written  rules, 
Which  all  men  everywhere  would  keep. 

Then  Labor  would  not  have  a  grouch, 
And  Capital  would  guileless  give; 

Such  things  you  know  would  never  do, 
For  troublemakers  have  to  live. 

And  so  they  hung  Him  to  the  cross, 
His  doctrine  was  so  dangerous! 

Thus  we'll  want  Heaven,  and  hell  is  sure, 
For  hate  will  still  abide  with  us." 


63 


THE    FIDDLER 

Now  comes  the  fiddler  with  his  lay, 

In  coat  of  shining  green, 
To  celebrate  the  harvest's  close 

And  autumn 's  radiant  sheen; 
He  plays  from  early  morn  till  late 
For  all  to  hear  if  they  but  wait. 

The  wheat  and  barley  have  been  stored, 
The  stubbled  garth  lies  bare; 

The  harvest  hands  have  gone  away, 
Birds  flock  through  field  and  air ; 

And  now  the  fiddler  has  his  chance, 

And  fairly  makes  his  fiddle  prance. 

Domestic  fowls  oft  strut  around, 

And  kingbirds  hover  near; 
But  still  he  plays  his  merry  tune 

Nor  has  a  thought  of  fear; 
Though  it  be  true  he's  often  hid, 

He  spreads  the  joys  of  a  catydid. 

And  so  time  runs,  all  things  must  fail; 

He  gives  no  heed  nor  care, 
That  soon  his  tune  will  be  played  out — 

No  music  more  he'll  share; 
May  we,  like  him,  not  lack  in  trust 

Yet  play  our  tune  as  though  we  must. 


64 


OMAR 

Thou  wert  the  prince  of  scoffers  of  thy  time, 
Yea,  of  all  time;  none  equalled,  none  surpassed 

In  slaying  future  hope  with  golden  rhyme, 
Nor  o'er  the  soul  a  bl-eaker  darkness  cast. 

And  thou  with  Horace  didst  applaud  the  cup, 

Didst  him  excel  in  sacrilegious  praise; 
Didst  make  it  god,  this  bacchanalian  sup, 

Though  time  and  men  have  proven  false  thy  lays- 
Yet  thou  within  didst  dread  the  end  of  all, 

Didst  long  to  live  beyond  time 's  fitful  verge ; 
Didst  wish  that  blossoms  on  thy  grave  might  fall- 
Be  not  forgot  when  ended  was  thy  dirge. 

Thou  couldst  not  dream  the  bane  thou  didst  the  race, 
When  those  twin  fallacies  thou  didst  uphold;— 

The  sodden  throngs  who'd  live — die  in  disgrace, 
By  making  Scripture  of  thy  quatrains  bold. 

I  would  forgive  thy  fault  with 'Christian  grace, 
If  so 't  might  be ;  but  all  thy  monstrous  wrong 

Passed  and  to  come  e  'en  Heav  'n  could  not  efface, 
So  deep  the  hurt  of  thine  encrimsoned  song. 

But  of  thy  wish,  I  may  fulfill  a  part — 

Cast  on  thy  grave  this  humble  tribute  mine : 

Oft  have  I  sipped  as  sips  the  thirsty  hart, 
At  thy  clear  stream  and  worshipped  at  thy  shrine. 

With  rarest  rapture,  thanks  to  Fitz,  I've  quaffed, 
And  quaffed  again  a  vintage  sweeter  far 

Than  beady  wine,  now  but  a  banal  draft; — 
Thy  song  exhilerates,  the  themes  but  mar. 

And  if  thy  shade  still  wanders  through  wide  space, 
Still  wearied,  restless,  on  must  roam, 

May  Pleaven  's  pity  grant  thee  dwelling  place, 
Where  disembodied  spirits  are  at  home. 


65 


JOAQUIN  MILLER 

The  hills  I  climbed  that  autumn  day 

Lay  browning  in  the  sun; 
And,  as  I  climbed,  sad  thoughts  were  mine 

Of  him  whose  work  was  done; 
Who'd  struggled  hard  yet  only  found 
That  he  must  mingle  with  the  ground. 

A  lizard  lazed  beside  the  trail, 

The  bracken  drooped,  I  ween, 
Until  I  reached  the  wooded  height 

And  viewed  a  broader  scene; 
And  then  I  knew  my  musing  wrong: 
Though  gone,  he  lives  in  work  and  song. 

The  eucalyptus  whispered  it, 

The  cassia  waved  and  bowed ; 
The  birds  from  barren  hills  came  near 

To  sing  his  praise  aloud; 
For  he  had  caused  the  wooded  shade, 
Where  they  could  warble  unafraid. 

The  grass  had  grown  to  wavy  lengths. 

The  green  bay  greener  grew ; 
The  squirrels  chirped,  the  rabbits  leaped, 

As  though  in  honor  due; 
For  he  had  given  all  he  had 
Of  toil  and  song  to  make  life  glad. 

He  built  so  those  with  weary  hearts 

Might  find  unbought  repose; 
And,  when  refreshed,  the  battle  face, 

And  think  of — e're  life's  close— 
The  Christ  who  gave  without  a  stint 
To  soften  hearts  though  hard  as  flint. 

66 


And  he  had  found  the  keenest  joy 
Gemmed  in  Time's  rounded  plan: 

Fought  sham  and  wrong  and  selfish  hate 
As  God's  first  call  to  man; 

Won  a  reward  none  else  may  know, 

And  lives,  while  dust  is  every  foe. 

Oh,  struggling  soul !  thou,  too,  sail  on ; 

No  fate  nor  foe  can  blast; 
If  thou  but  in  his  footsteps  go, 

Reward  must  come  at  last ; 
For  human  hearts  still  seek  the  light, 
And  faith  and  love  still  win  the  right. 


LONGING 

Out  of  the  night-mists  a  star, 
Winging  through  eons  unsum'd; 

Sweeps  to  deep  spaces  afar, 
To  regions  by  mortals  unpluimVd. 

Whither,  oh  star  in  thy  flight! 

Whither,  oh  take  me  with  thee ; 
Give  me  to  see  by  thy  light, 

The  visions  my  heart  longs  to  see. 

Give  me  a  place  in  thy  beams — 
Kinship  by  stellar  decree ; 

Then  the  fulfillment  of  dreams— 
The  verities  waiting  the  free. 


67 


INDUSTRY  VS.  DISPLAY 

The  butterfly  and  the  honey  bee 

Sat  on  the  self  same  flower ; 
"You  take  life  far  too  seriously/' 
The  former  said,  "just  look  at  me, 
More  fair  than  Sheba's  queen  to  see, 

With  all  her  wealth  and  power. 

I  live  to  make  a  fine  display, 

For  that's  what  life  is  for; 
I  gild  my  wings  with  morning's  ray, 
With  rainbow  colors,  the  sheen  of  May, 
And  thus  will  please  the  King  some  day, 

For  labor  I  abhor. " 

The  bee,  too  busy  to  reply, 

Kept  steadily  at  work; 
He  searched  each  petal,  low  and  high> 
He  gleaned  the  gold  nor  reasoned  why, 
But  sought  to  glean  most  faithfully, 

And  ne'er  be  known  to  shirk. 

Then  came  King  World  with  royal  train, 

Reward  was  in  his  hand ; 
All  gaudy  show  did  he  disdain, 
For  food  he  craved  and,  of  the  twain, 
Gave  to  the  bee  the  right  to  reign 

As  queen  of  all  the  land. 


68 


OUR  BROTHER 

His  mission  was  not  fully  plain, 

Though  he  dwelt  here  in  joy  and  pain; 

Autocracy's  smug  verbiage 

Had  throned  Him  king  not  reason's  sage; 

They  armed  Him  with  a  vengeful  sword 

With  speech  and  anger  to  accord, 

To  reign  in  matters  of  the  spirit 

And  all  things  else  construed  as  near  it: 

This  when  of  rulers  who'd  oppress 

We'd  had  enough,  you  must  confess. 

Then  searching  in  a  cob-webbed  nook, 
I  found  an  ancient,  unused  book ; 
And  searching  for  some  fact  or  other, 
I  learned,  oh.  joy!     He  was  our  brother — 
Brother  in  toil  that  earns  our  bread, 
Brother  in  pain  of  heart  and  head; 
Brother  by  the  foul  rabble  curst, 
Brother  to  feel  base  slander's  worst. 

He  felt  with  us  the  look  unkind, 

The  stab  delivered  from  behind ; 

The  wrong  that's  done  through  human  hate 

And  cries  aloud  to  Heaven's  gate; 

The  perfidy  of  kiss  and  deed 

Himself  the  crushed  by  tyrant  creed; 

Yet  He  bore  all  in  patient  mood 

To  show  that  God  still  understood, 

And  would,  in  time,  make  light  the  load 

Of  all  who  faithful  onward  strode. 

And  then  his  mission  was  full  plain ; 
Man  needs  a  brother  in  toil  and  pain 
To  steady  him  in  fortitude 
To  do  his  best  with  gratitude, 
Though  perfidy  may  do  its  worst, 
Invoke  e  'en  death  with  the  accurst ; 
Brother,  I  take  Thee  to  my  arms, 
Now,  life  nor  death  can  have  alarms. 


HIS  DEED 

He  told  of  Heaven  and  its  joys, 

Its  golden  streets  and  peaceful  rest; 

So  free  from  trouble  that  annoys 
Here  in  this  life  e  'en  at  its  best. 

His  eloquence  quite  charmed  the  ear, 
And  moved  the  soul  to  nobler  heights ; 

His  silver  tones  themselves  brought  cheer- 
A  benediction  of  delights. 

"Pis  years  since  he  was  laid  away, 

And  often  I  his  name  recall; 
His  sermons  pass  in  dim  array — 

A  kindly  deed  overshadows  all. 

'Twas  chilly  night,  I,  filled  with  gloom, 
Could  nowhere  find  an  open  door; 

He  had,  save  in  his  heart,  no  room ; 
I  slept  upon  his  kitchen  floor. 

'Tis  true  fair  speech  may  travel  far, 
And  often  will  supply  a  need; 

But  this  I  hold  'mong  truths  that  are : 
What  lingers  longest  is  the  deed. 


70 


A    GLAD   OLD   WORLD 

Oft  when  I'm  straying  aloft  on  the  mountain, 

Where  the  breeze  fans  the  brow  crooning  softly  and 
low; 

Or  when  I  am  drinking  at  some  bubbling  fountain, 
Where  the  cress  and  the  mint  and  the  jessamine  grow; 

There  to  my  spirit  this  truth  is  unfurled; 

Though  men  may  mar  it,  'tis  a  glad  old  world. 

Down  there  below  is  the  city's  loud  clatter, 

Man's  inhumanity  rushing   for  gain; 
Crushing  the  helpless  and  weak,  'tis  no  matter, 

So  they  the  high  courts  of  Mammon  attain; 
Would  they  could  see  but  this  banner  unfurled; 
Though  men  may  mar  it,  'tis  a  glad  old  world. 

See  the  abundance  earth  freely  produces, 

Plenty  for  all  of  the  fat  of  the  land; 
Yet  thousands  must  famish  because  of  abuses 

By  profiteers  grasping  with  merciless  hand; 
Would  they  could  see  but  this  truth  unfurled, 
Though  men  may  mar  it,  'tis  a  glad  old  world. 


71 


JACK  CRACKER 

They  used  to  call  him  lazy  Jack — 

Jack  Cracker; 
And  said  hard  things  behind  his  back, 

Jack  Cracker;  . 

Said  he  was  shiftless  and  no  good, 
Because  he  never  would  saw  wood, 
Nor  do  hard  work  as  they  thought  he  should, 

Jack  Cracker. 

They  even  called  him  poor  white  trash, 

Jack  Cracker; 
Because  he  never  had  the  cash, 

Jack  Cracker; 

They  named  him  unthrift's  simile, 
The  antonym  of  the  busy  bee — 
A  man  who  never  earned  his  tea, 

Jack  Cracker. 

Meanwhile  poor  Jack  began  to  fail, 

Jack  Cracker; 
At  loss  of  character  grew  pale, 

Jack  Cracker; 

With  friends  and  credit  lost  to  view, 
He  thought  for  slander  he  should  sue, 
But  was  too  weak  the  thing  to  do, 

Jack  Cracker. 

In  deep  despair  Jack  sat  the  while, 

Jack  Cracker; 
Unable  now  to  jest  or  smile, 

Jack  Cracker; 


72 


Life  was  a  wretched  round  of  care, 
Of  misery  and  rank  despair, 
From  every  angle  harsh,  unfair, 
Jack  Cracker. 

Then  science  came  and  smiled  on  Jack, 

Jack  Cracker; 
Stopped  all  hard  talk  behind  his  back, 

Jack  Cracker; 

It  found  Jack's  body  full  of  hooks — 
A  parasite  not  found  in  books, 
Which  was  destroying  strength  and  looks, 

Jack  Cracker. 

And  now  Jack  has  the  pulse  of  hope, 

Jack  Cracker; 
For  doctors  with  the  hooks  can  cope, 

Jack  Cracker; 

Soon  Jack  can  vindicate  his  name, 
By  winning  at  the  working  game, 
And  putting  slanderers  to  shame, 

Jack  Cracker. 


73 


STAR  DUST 

Nancy  Campbell,  Nancy  Campbell,  ever  since  I  saw  your 

face, 

I  have  had  a  deep  desire  to  come  over  to  your  place; 
So  I've  come  with  some  presumption  and  now  that  I  am 

here 

I  cannot  speak  the  thoughts  I  have,  I  feel  a  little  queer; 
I  had  the  words  all  sifted  out  and  set  in  fine  array, 
But  now  that  I  look  in  your  eyes  they've  gone  like  sheep 

astray; 
I  meant  that  they  should  please  you  well,  you'd  kindly 

think  of  me, 

But  now  my  ignorance  is  plain,  my  gross  stupidity ; 
Of  this  you  cannot  have  a  doubt,  it  is  a  fatal  lack, 
So  I  will  say  farewell  to  you  and  trace  my  footsteps  back. 

No,  Henry  Dean,  no,  Henry  Dean,  'tis  early  yet  to  go, 
Perhaps  if  you  should  stay  awhile  the  words  again  would 

flow; 
And  I  have  heard  that  you  can  talk  of  science  deep  and 

true, 
Tell  why  the  stars  shine  out  at  night,  tell  why  the  sky 

is  blue. 
And  now  that  they  begin  to  peep  and  show  their  diamond 

light, 

I'd  like  to  know  why  some  are  dull  and  some  are  always 
bright. 

Is  it  because  that  some  are  loved  and  some  unloved  have 

been, 

And  left  to  shine  alone  at  night,  unnoticed  and  unseen  ? 
And    there's   yon    constellation,    there's    nothing   more 

would  please 
Than  have  you  tell  about  it — about  the  pleiades. 

74 


Nancy    Campbell,    Nancy    Campbell,    your    suggestion 
comes  in  time, 

For  now  the  words  begin  to  come  almost  like  flowing 

rhyme ; 

I've  made  a  study  of  the  stars,  of  them  I  something  know, 
I  notice  them  e  ach  evening  as  I  travel  too  and  fro ; 
And  some  of  them  have  lent  their  sheen  from  their  high 

place  above 
To  give  the  sparkle  here  to  eyes  just  made  I  trow  for 

love; 
(I  know  a  pair  that  have  the  glow — of  many  stars  the 

shine, 

I  must  not  mention  it  I  know,  I'd  like  to  call  them  mine;) 
Ah,  how  the  words  keep  rushing  on,  I  hope  they  won't 

displease, 
Could  you — oh,  could  you  love  one  who   too   loves   the 

Pleiades? 


PROGRESS 

Life  is  progress;  deep  and  true, 
Buns  the  Eternal  Purpose  through; 
Results  by  sturdy  effort  brought, 
Today  by  newer  process  wrought. 

Perpetual  adaptation  binds, 
To  new  conditions,  keenest  minds; 
Apparent  excellencies  are 
Discarded  with  mistakes  that  mar. 

ADVANCE  is  e'er  the  watch  word  high, 
And  ways  more  intricate  apply; 
The  vision  new,  new  power  obtains, 
In  every  process,  progress  reigns. 


75 


SMILE  ON 

When  rank  failure  bids  you  grumble 

And  feel  blue ; 
Or  investments  take  a  tumble 

And  fall  through; 

When  constrained  to  fret  and  worry, 
Hustling  ever  in  a  hurry, 
Better  pause  amidst  the  flurry, 

And  just  smile,  keep  smiling  on. 

If  storm-tossed  and  faith  is  failing, 

As  it  may; 
And  your  friends  once  true  are  railing, 

Day  by  day; 

If  you  cannot  meet  the  payment, 
Don't  give  way  to  harsh  inveighment, 
Put  on  hope  like  a  new  raiment, 

Ancfjust  smile,  keep  smiling  on. 

Does  distress  bring  to  you  grieving, 

With  each  breath ; 
Health  of  self  or  loved  one  leaving, 

As  for  death; 

Still  there's  light  beyond  the  gloaming, 
Flope  for  weary  hearts  a-roaming, 
If  they'll  keep  from  fretting;,  foaming 

And  just  smile,  keep  smiling  on. 


76 


HER  LOVE  NOTES 

The  fragrant  winds  sigh  softly 

The  orange  boughs  among; 
They  bring  this  cheer  to  my  waiting  ear, 
A  whispered  cadence  soft  and  clear, 

Like  the  love-notes  in  her  song. 

Beneath  this  tree  a-trysting, 

The  hours  like  moments  fled ; 
The  words  we  sung,  were  just  new  sprung 
To  live  in  hearts  forever  young — 

Long  as  true  hearts  shall  wed. 

'Twas  in  the  time  of  blossoms, 

Ah !  I  remember  well ; 
For  she  would  wear  some  petals  fair 
From  off  the  tree  whose  fragrance  rare 

Her  kisses  only  could  excel. 

And  then — but  life  is  fleeting, 

Be  still,  oh  aching  heart ! 
The  bloom  she  wore  I  saw  no  more 
When  off  her  precious  form  they  bore 

Of  earth  to  be  a  part. 

And  now  where  'er  my  roaming, 

I  come  when  the  blossoms  throng, 
For  the  fragrance  here  and  to  catch  the  cheer 
Of  the  whispered  cadence  soft  and  clear, 
Like  the  love-notes  in  her  song. 


77 


WASHINGTON 

The  years  but  add  a  brighter  glow, 

Give  him  a  truer  fame, 
Who  struck  for  Liberty  the  blow — 

Enthroned  her  with  acclaim ; 
Oh!  Washington,  our  Washington, 

God  armed  thee  for  the  fray, 
In  simple,  stainless,  robust  worth, 
To  lift  the  murk  of  tyrant  earth, 

That  Freedom  might  have  sway. 

As  from  some  barbican  of  time, 

His  vision  streamed  afar; 
Heard  the  oppressed  from  every  clime 

Cry  for  an  Avatar; 
Oh !  Washington,  our  Washington, 

God  raised  thee  from  the  throng 
To  do  the  deed  when  great  the  need 
To  free  from  crushing  tyrant's  greed 

And  help  the  weak^i  be  strong. 

At  the  full  stroke  of  Aeon 's  knell, 

He  bravely  took  command ; 
Exposed  his  breast  to  shot  and  shell 

Our  country 's  chains  to  rend ; 
Oh!  Washington,  our  Washington, 

God  guided  thee  aright, 
Kept  thee  unharm'd,  Hephaestus  charm 'd, 
Until  the  foe  was  whipped,  disarmed, 

And  Freedom's  law  was  might. 

But  oh,  the  heart-ache  and  the  toil, 

The  hunger  and  the  cold! 
All  was  endured  to  free  the  soil 

And  Freedom's  flag  unfold; 

78 


Oh !  Washington,  our  Washington, 

Our  hearts  are  grateful  still, 
Thy  worthy  name  we  now  proclaim 
With  highest  honor,  noblest  fame, 

For  working  Freedom's  will. 

Can  we,  oh,  can  we  e'er  forget 

The  struggle  and  the  cost! 
The  flag  that  with  our  blood  was  wet, 

May  it  e'en  now  be  lost? 
Oh !  Washington,  our  Washington, 

God  rot  the  traitor  hand, 
That  seeks  to  mar  a  stripe  or  star, 
While  waves  the  flag  where  true  hearts  are, 

Thou  gavest  to  our  land. 


LEONTION 

She  walks — of  all  the  girls  I  know, 
A  princess  'mongst  the  charming  many; 

Fairer  than  fair  as  maidens  go, 
Without  a  fault — or  hardly  any. 

Of  noblest  traits  she  has  full  store, 
That  are  to  lovely  maid  befitting; 

She  bids  me  stay  and  talk  some  more, 
When  in  the  hammock  we  are  sitting. 

Modest  of  mien  yet  glad  and  gay, 

She  shows  that  I  add  to  her  pleasure; 

Happy  I'll  be  when  comes  the  day, 
That  I  may  claim  her  for  my  treasure. 


79 


THEY  SEE  THE  KING 

All  souls  of  earth  seek  happiness, 

But  only  they  shall  find, 
Who  have  the  burning  zeal  of  faith, 

And  an  exalted  mind. 

Not  true  a  cat  may  see  the  king; 

It  only  sits  and  glares; 
It  sees  in  terms  of  feline  wants, 

In  common  with  the  bears. 

They  see  the  king  who  are  possess  'd 

Of  kingly  qualities; 
Of  courage,  honor,  graciousness, 

The  true  humanities. 

So  they  who  find  true  happiness, 

Have  qualities  of  mind, 
To  feel  the  calm  and  peaceful  glow, 

And  know  it  when  they  find. 


80 


THY  WORK  IS  THY  REWARD 

Wouldst  know  thy  fate,  oh  gallant  youth, 
Thou  who  wouldst  boost  the  world  along? 
So  eager  thou,  so  filled  with  zeal, 
To  lift  mankind  from  woe  to  weal, 
To  its  best  self,  its  sorrows  heal, 
Thou  may'st  not  see  the  sordid  truth, 
For  vision  of  the  victor 's  song. 

Thou  canst  indeed  help  give  it  speed, 

This  world,  along  the  lanes  of  toil ; 

But  'tis  decreed  no  victor 's  song 

Nor  laurel  shall  to  thee  belong; 

Thou 'It  be  forgot,  the  thoughtless  throng 

Will  pass  thee  by,  nor  little  heed 

Who  helped  them  from  the  rnuck  ard  moil. 

Yet  halt  not  in  thy  noble  quest, 

Nor  for  reward  too  closely  scan ; 

For  though  the  world  may  on  thee  frown,— 

The  speed  thou  givest  help  pull  thee  down— 

Thy  work  for  thee  will  be  a  crown — 

Will  glad  thy  heart  as  of  the  best 

Who've  walked  the  earth — a  God-like  man. 


81 


AT  PANAMA 

(December,  1899) 

At  Panama,  when  the  sun  sinks  low, 
And  purple  shadows  fall  amain, 

A  thousand  phantoms  come  and  go, 
A  thousand  rovers  live  again — 

Adventurers  on  conquest  bound, 

Who  once  made  this  their  stamping  ground. 

That  pirate  age  again  returns, 
And  law  is  force,  the  sword  is  law ; 

The  corsair  who  most  cities  burns 
Wins  highest  stakes  which  one  may  draw, 

And  slaughterers  of  friendly  host, 

Though  honor's  dead,  are  honored  most. 

A  continent  Fate  holds  in  pawn, 

Great  empires  wait  for  him  who  '11  take ; 
Bold  buccaneers  strive  for  a  throne 

Though  bloody  be  the  path  they  make, 
And  some  will  win  where  all  should  lose 
Who  life's  most  precious  gifts  abuse. 

Davila  comes  with  sturdy  band 

To  found  a  city  in  the  West ; 
Aeneas-like  he  views  the  land, 

Then  builds  his  walls  to  stand  the  test 
Of  troublous  times,  yet  naught  avails 
'Gainst  the  freebooter  who  assails. 

Pizarro  comes  in  stress  of  need, 

Monk  Luque  gives  him  wished-f  or  aid ; 

The  miscreant  forgets  the  deed, 
Ingratitude's  the  coin  repaid; 

For  honesty  and  noble  worth 

Seem  banished  from  the  bleeding  earth. 

Dread  Morgan  sails  the  Spanish  Main, 
His  name  is  cause  for  whispered  fear, 

A  thousand  prayers  are  said  in  vain, 
For  now  his  ships  are  anchored  near 

And  Panama  lies  sacked  and  still, 

A  victim  of  the  victor's  will. 

82 


Off  yonder  rides  the  Golden  Hind, 
Her  skipper's  had  his  dream  come  true; 

He's  plowed  Balboa's  sea  to  find 
More  riches  than  Golconda  knew; 

Today  in  Porto  Bello  's  deep, 

Drake's  body  is  consigned  to  sleep. 

And  so  they  come  and  so  they  go ; 

Revolt  and  riot  too  have  sway, 
Till  dawn's  fair  light  begins  to  glow 

And  pirate  visions  flee  away; 
Cathedral  bells  smite  on  the  ear, 
Night's  lustful  prowlers  disappear. 

Now  gaze  upon  the  leaning  walls, 
The  broken  tower,  the  rutted  stone, 

The  heritage  that  still  recalls 

That  vicious  age  now  haply  gone, 

When  e  'en  the  cross  was  made  to  bless 

The  dastard  deeds  of  the  conscienceless. 

Go  where  the  dead  are  sepulchered; 

Outside  its  holy  walls  are  thrown 
The  bones  of  those  once  there  interred 

In  rotting  heaps,  their  names  unknown ! 
Were  these  defenders  in  the  strife 
Of  love  and  home  and  precious  life ! 

Fair  Panama,  of  varied  fame ! 

Thou'st  suffered  to  the  dregs,  I  ween; 
Time's  horiscope  would  still  acclaim 

A  brighter  sky  than  yet  has  been ; 
For  Destiny  knows  no  defeat- 
Will  yet  enroll  thee  'mong  the  great. 


83 


SERVICE 

The  rose  that  was  so  fondly  cherished, 
Spread  forth  its  bloom  but  for  a  day; 

Yet  ere  from  wintry  breath  it  perished, 
Shed  all  around  its  fragrance  sweet  as  May. 

The  sturdy  oak  anear  the  village, 

With  broken  boughs  yet  upright  form; 

Still  fends  the  blasts  from  gentler  tillage, 
Patient  to  breast  each  hurtling  storm. 

So  each,  though  humble  be  his  mission — 
Unfelt  the  thrill  of  popular  acclaim; 

May  know  the  joy  of  glad  fruition, 
In  duty's  meads  and  worthy  aim. 


84 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  CONTENTED  HEART 

I  wandered  long,  I  searched  afar, 
The  Land  of  Happiness  to  find ; 

Was  it  a  myth  of  earth  or  star, 

Just  meant  for  flight  of  thought 's  swift  car, 

Not  to  be  reached  but  sadly  mar 
Such  joys  as  bless  poor  humankind? 

No,  I  have  found  this  Paradise, 

Though  not  engrossed  on  star-blazed  chart; 
Within  the  reach  of  all  it  lies, 
By  homely  hearth,  neath  changing  skies, 
And  labeled  by  the  good  and  wise, 

The  Land  of  the  Contented  Heart. 

This  land  is  rich  in  gifts  not  gold, 

Not  ermine  robes  nor  gems  of  art ; 
But  fabrics  rarely  bought  or  sold, 
In  friends  whose  worth  cannot  be  told, 
In  verdant  meadows,  mountains  bold— 
This  Land  of  the  Contented  Heart. 

Its  many  charms  I  find  so  rare, 

That  I  shall  never  more  depart ; 
It  gives  of  health  a  goodly  share, 
Food,  raiment,  shelter  and  to  spare, 
The  love  of  those  most  dear  and  fair — 
This  Land  of  the  Contented  Heart. 

It  grants  success  in  fair  degree — 

For  God  helps  those  who  do  their  part — 

Books  and  a  garden  fair  to  see; 

The  dreaded  things  pass  harmlessly; 

Holds  joys  untasted  still  for  me— 
This  Land  of  the  Contented  Heart. 


85 


DUTY— TRUST— HONOR 

Sentinel,  thy  duty  do 

Though  unhonored  be  thy  lot; 
Thine  to  guard  by  valor  true 

Though  the  deed  be  soon  forgot. 

Sentinel,  thy  trust  fulfill 
Though  forgotten  at  thy  post; 

Thine  the  noblest  virtue  still 
Faith  to  keep  with  sleeping  host. 

Sentinel,  no  peril  shun, 
Foes  can  but  the  body  kill; 

Honor  lost  is  ne'er  rewon— 
Lives  for  aye  dishonor  still. 


86 


MY  DOG 

I  never  knew  from  whence  he  came, 

That  homely  little  dog  of  mine ; 
I  only  know  that  sick  and  lame, 
Without  a  friend,  without  a  name, 
Or  anything  to  give  him  fame, 

I  found  him  most  too  weak  to  whine. 

He  saw  me  pause,  then  tried  his  best, 

To  crawl  up  to  me  where  I  stood; 
One  effort  and  he  had  to  rest. 
His  wounds  hurt  so ;  one  on  his  breast, 
Was  bleeding  still  like  all  possess 'd, 
And  oh,  how  much  he  needed  food. 

Then  as  I  saw  him  suffer,  oh ! 

It  made  my  angry  passions  rise ; 
I  wanted  but  the  chance  to  show 
The  human  wretch  by  blow  on  blow, 
Just  what  it  meant  to  suffer  so— 

To  treat  God's  creatures  in  this  wise 

I  picked  him  up  with  tender  care, 
And  took  him  gently  home  with  me ; 

I  dressed  his  wounds,  gave  him  a  share 

Of  food  and  warmth  and  kindness  where 

Before  he  only  had  for  fare 
The  deepest  kind  of  cruelty. 

W^hen  he  got  well  a  truer  friend, 
Man  never  had  upon  this  earth; 
His  gratitude  was  without  end, 
He  'd  fetch  for  me  and  at  command, 
Attack  a  foe,  my  home  defend, 

Proud  for  the  chance  to  be  of  wTorth. 

Yes,  he's  as  homely  as  a  rag, 

His  tail  is  kinked  and  homely  too; 
But  I  would  rather  trust  its  wag, 
Than  all  the  boasts  of  men  who  brag, 
Of  friendship,  country  and  the  flag, 
But  never  prove  their  friendship  true. 

87 


NIGHT'S  MYSTERY 

I  wander  oft,  companion  of  the  night, 
Along  the  trails  that  lead  to  mountain  height ; 
By  shrouded  trees  or  'neath  the  open  sky 
To  hear  the  whisperings  of  night's  mystery. 

The  varied  twinklings  of  the  friendly  stars, 
Far  from  the  noisy  street  or  aught  that  mars ; 
The  moonbeams  with  their  tender  light  serene 
Send  happy  thoughts  as  of  close  friends  between. 

And  this  the  mystery,  the  message  plain, 

As  I  return  to  Orange  Bower  again: 

Too  much  of  sun  as  well  as  Heaven's  pure  light 

Must  filtered  be  to  bear  by  earth-born  wight. 


88 


FAIR  PLAY 

You  must  capture  Philoctetes, ' ' 

Says  the  crafty  Ulysses; 
Use  the  wiliest  deception, 

And  his  might  you'll  match  with  ease.- ' 

Then  obeys  Neoptolemus, 

To  his  prince  a  faithful  youth; 

Feigns  sincerity  of  friendship — 
Wins  success  at  cost  of  truth. 

But  above  the  joy  of  conquest, 

Speaks  an  inner  monitor; 
Shows  the  baseness  of  his  method — 

Ways  that  honest  men  abhor. 

Then  repents  he  of  his  action, 

Bow  and  arrows  he  returns ; 
And  his  pride  to  take  the  exile 

Back  to  Troy  in  triumph,  spurns. 

Ulysses,  the  prince,  derides  him, 
But  the  brave  youth  will  not  quail; 

'I  would  rather,  acting  nobly, 
Fail  than  basely  to  prevail. ' ' 


89 


ODE  TO  MOTHERHOOD 

Hathor,  since  I  thy  form  observed 
On  pillared  stone  where  it  was  carved, 
That  all  might  of  thy  prowess  learn— 
Obedient  might  thy  favor  earn— 
My  clarion  sounds  its  highest  praise 
For  those  who  lived  in  those  far  days, 
Who  worshiped  thee  among  the  good, 
Thou  Goddess  of  fair  Motherhood ! 

Thou  wert  the  first  to  have  the  grace 
To  honor  mothers  of  the  race; 
To  show  all  else  of  little  worth 
Unless  the  mothers  gave  us  birth; 
Though  dynasties  have  come  and  gone, 
Full  fifty  centuries  were  thine  own; 
And  though  thou  art  now  near  forgot, 
The  realm  of  motherhood  is  not. 

So  near  forgot  yet  lingering 
Are  praiseful  words  they  used  to  sing ; 
"The  Lady  of  the  Turquoise "  thou, 
A  title  that  would  charm  e  'en  now ; 
How  often  bowed  the  wistful  maid ! 
How  many  a  mother  sought  thy  aid, 
As  down  the  centuries  there  ran 
The  multiplying  race  of  man ! 

Far  greater  wert  than  Egypt's  queen 
In  splendor 's  robe  of  purple  sheen, 
And  fascinating  gaze  that  won 
World-conquering  Caesar  for  her  own; 
Or  Bilkis  gracing  Sheba's  crown 
And  gifts  which  spread  her  high  renown, 
When  she  proved  Israel's  king  a  sage- 
Wrote  high  her  name  on  Time's  own  page, 

90 


For  what  are  rank  and  high  renown, 
The  royal  robe  or  jeweled  crown, 
The  gifts  of  wealth  or  Beauty's  face 
Compared  with  bearers  of  the  race ! 
Though  Wisdom's  Lamp  illume  the  height 
Till  all  the  world  might  see  the  light, 
How  feeble  still  compared  with  this: 
A  mother's  love,  a  mother's  kiss! 

Old  goddesses  have  had  their  day, 
A  better  kind  are  here  to  stay; 
I  see  them  daily  with  delight— 
The  mothers  with  a  crown  of  light ; 
This  world  indeed  would  be  quite  drear, 
If  they  should  fail  to  bless  and  cheer ; 
And  this  I  say,  each  one  I  see, 
i  i  She 's  goddess  quite  enough  for  me. ' ' 


91 


HE  SMILED  GOOD-MORNING 

He  smiled  ' i  Good-morning ' '  as  the  day 

Rushed  on  with  noisy  tread ; 
And  in  my  heart  there  sprang  a  lay 
That  sang  through  toil  and  business  fray 
And  eased  the  harshness  of  the  way 

Till  all  the  hours  had  sped. 

I  felt  the  cheer  of  lark's  glad  note 

Nor  paused  to  reason  why ; 
No  time  for  thought,  near  or  remote, 
For  puff  and  blow  from  noisy  throat 
Of  rushing  train  and  speeding  boat, 

As  they  my  work  brought  nigh. 

And  then  began  the  daily  grind 

As  all  days  of  the  year ; 
The  pouch  of  mail — its  tone  was  kind, 
The  grouch,  it  seemed,  had  changed  his  mind, 
Though  men  were  frank,  they  were  refined 

And  wrote  with  quiet  cheer. 

At  eve,  I  sat  in  easy  chair 

And  said :     This  day  was  fine ; 
It  was  the  wheat  that  waved  so  fair, 
Or  glint  of  tree-tops  high  in  air, 
Or  sky  close  bending  azure  rare, 

That  eased  the  burdens  mine. 

But  still  sang  on  some  pleasant  thought, 

Some  mem  'ry  would  review ; 
Was  it  some  peal  of  anthem  caught, 
Some  deed  well  done,  some  business  wrought, 
Ah,  no ;  it  was  what  came  unbought ; 

Friend,  'twas  that  smile  from  you. 


SELF'S  DOMAIN 

The  seer  said  "myself  am  hell," 

A  truth  to  bear  in  mind; 
Self  is  the  only  prison  cell, 

That  can  forever  bind. 

Though  time  and  fate  and  custom  frown, 
And  foes  would  thwart  the  goal ; 

Fair  Freedom's  jewel  will  him  crown, 
Who's  captain  of  his  soul. 

There  are  no  thrones  in  earth  or  space, 
Where  gods  Olympian  reign ; 

But  he  may  win  with  worthy  grace. 
Who's  king  of  self's  domain. 


93 


RETURN,  RETURN 

I  would  not  ask  you  to  return 

As  though  the  wish  were  wholly  mine; 

For  all  around  there 's  call  and  yearn 
For  something  that  was  wholly  thine. 

A  presence  that  would  glad  the  birds, 
Whose  songs  are  mournful  all  the  day; 

The  river,  too,  too  dull  for  words, 
Again  would  sing  its  roundelay. 

The  orange  trees '  neath  which  we  walked, 
Which  showered  fragrance  sweetly  through, 

While  we  of  all  life's  beauty  talked, 
Are  sadly  waiting  too  for  you. 

The  garden  paths  lie  strangely  still. 

The  latch-string  waits  your  magic  hand, 

Where  love  came  tripping  at  your  will 
And  lived  in  time's  enchanted  land. 

A  silence  falls  at  evening's  close, 
The  sun  sinks  lonely  o'er  the  range; 

The  moon's  pale  beam  no  friendship  shows 
The  stars  dim-smoulder  at  the  change. 

The  poppies  fade  upon  the  hill, 
The  heliotrope  sheds  no  perfume; 

The  ringdoves  sigh  nor  coo  nor  bill 
And  wander  aimless  from  their  home. 

For  these  and  all  you  must  return, 
To  liven  them  with  pleasure's  glow; 

They  must  no  longer  pine  and  yearn 
Nor  hunger  for  your  presence  so. 

Dull  care  will  then  no  more  intrude 
When  your  form  enters  at  the  door ; 

You'll  smile  away  this  solitude 

And  mv  dead  heart  will  live  once  more. 


94 


LOVERS 

I  saw  the  sea  from  the  mountain, 
I  saw  her  from  a  near  hill ; 
She  had  the  charm  of  color, 
She  had  the  silence  of  intimacy, 
She  had  the  fascination  of  motion, 
And  she  beckoned  to  me. 

She  beckoned  to  me  as  a  lover; 

Come  hither,  come  hither,  light-hearted, 

Come  hither  son  of  perfection, 

Come  hither  cousin  Proteus, 

And  join  me  in  revelry. 

I  went  down  to  her  boudoir, 
Where  she  rarely  allows  intrusion; 
But  her  salutation  frightened  me, 
It  was  so  effusive,  boisterous, 
I  was  scarce  equal  to  it. 

I  grew  bolder,  (I  hate  a  laggard); 

She  told  me  her  secrets — 

The  ways  of  her  endearments, 

The  fervor  of  her  love, 

The  strength  of  her  affection, 

And  I  reciprocated. 

She  threw  her  white  arms  around  me, 
She  embraced  me  rapturously, 
She  anointed  me  with  her  green  beauty; 
On  her  bosom  she  caressed  me, 
Tossing  and  swaying  with  delight— 
I  knew  I  had  found  my  great  Love. 

Now  I  can  scarcely  endure  separation- 
All  my  thoughts  are  fixed  on  her; 
When  away,  I  hasten  to  return, 
All  my  dreams  are  dreams  of  her; 
I  am  a  lover  of  the  sea, 
Of  the  effusive,  boisterous,  sea. 


95 


BY  THE  FEATHER 

River  of  destiny,  flowing  majestic'ly, 

Placidly  onward  through  mountain  and  plain ; 

Oh,  how  the  heart  of  me  clings  to  the  heart  of  thee, 
Travelers  afar,  we  return  not  again. 

I  would  know  this  of  thee :    What  is  the  mystery 
Of  this  strange  essence  by  man  yclept  life; 

In  the  mad  hum  of  it,  what  is  the  sum  of  it, 
Joys  frought  with  struggle,  its  peace  mar'd  by  strife! 

1  '  This  the  amenity  brings  me  serenity, 

Joys  of  performance  unheeded  of  man; 
Not  for  the  sound  of  it,  do  I  my  round  of  it, 
But  for  my  part  in  the  Omniscient  Plan. ' ' 


96 


WHAT  MOUNTAINS  TELL 

I  love  the  grave  old  mountains, 
Though  grim  their  forms  appear; 

And  none  would  own  their  rocks  so  brown, 
So  frowning,  bleak  and  bare. 

With  zest  I  climb  their  pathways, 

Or  rest  upon  their  crown ; 
For  there  aloft  the  winds  blow  soft, 

Far  from  the  heated  town. 

O'er  thoughtful  contemplation, 

They  cast  a  glamour 'd  spell; 
Of  aeons  old  of  tales  untold, 

Of  heat  sans  parallel. 

How  Vulcan 's  Titan  smithy 
Forged  out  their  rugged  peaks; 

What  hammers  rang,  what  anvils  sang, 
The  wondrous  work  bespeaks. 

And  now  in  aged  grandure, 

They  stand  earth's  bulwarks  strong; 
And  year  by  year  unmoved  they  hear 

The  storm-king's  siren  song. 

I  muse  till  thoughts  most  wistful 

Well  up  and  fill  my  soul; 
For  tell  who  can  both  mount  and  man 

Are  part  of  the  Great  Whole. 

And  so  I  love  the  mountains, 

For  this  to  me  they  tell : 
Whate'er  our  forms  we'll  fear  no  storms, 

For  all  is  ordered  well. 


97 


INSPIRED  TO  DUTY 

To  all  accustomed  toil  and  care 

Give  pause  that  we,  these  mounds  beside, 

May  scatter  flow'rs,  o'er  each  a  share, 
Who  've  passed  beyond  life 's  fitful  tide. 

This  tribute  to  their  dust  we  give- 
God  keeps  his  own — they  need  it  not; 

But  that  the  fragrance,  while  we  live, 
Of  their  dear  mem  'ries  be  not  forgot. 

Since  last  this  loving  rite  we  paid, 

New  thousands  have  death's  vantage  gained; 
While  we,  in  earth's  dim-lighted  shade, 

Are  from  the  Greater  Light  restrained. 

The  earth  lies  numbed  from  war's  dread  blight, 
Yet  leaves  this  rose  above  the  mold: 

Men's  souls  are  cleansed  by  righteous  fight 
Of  all  their  dross  to  shining  gold. 

These  are  not  buried  in  the  earth, 
Within  the  Nation's  heart  they  lie; 

Enshrined  as  of  immortal  birth 
In  valor's  deeds  that  cannot  die. 

They  rest  with  those  of  Sixty-One, 
Of  Seventy-Six  and  Twelve  secure; 

Our  brave  and  true,  their  warfare  done, 
That  Freedom  might  alway  endure. 

From  obscure  regioir they  have  moved 

To  hist'ry's  shrine;  there,  praiseful  meeds, 

Engraved,  will  bless  them  we  so  loved 

Long  as  Time 's  scroll  marks  worthy  deeds. 

98 


How  precious  thus,  their  dust  a-near, 
To  catch  a  glimpse  of  fulfilled  dream! 

To  mingle  speech  of  them  so  dear 
Who  gave  life 's  purpose  a  holier  gleam ! 

Now  to  all  memories  sacred  here, 
These  tributes  of  our  love  we  spread; 

And  consecrate  the  coming  year, 
Inspired  to  duty  by  our  dead. 


AT    YOSEMITE 

Amidst  the  dreams  of  matter  and  of  space, 

I've  traveled  far  along  the  varied  trails 

Of  God's  own  footstool  and  His  universe; 

Have  heard  His  deep  yet  gentle  whisperings 

Appealingly  in  many  a   sun-bright  spot, 

Where  songbirds  trilled  amidst  the  orange  breath 

Of  groves  with  Hesper's  fruit  full  laden 

And  the  grape  and  fig  gave  pleasing  comfort. 

And  on  the  waving  hills,  where  the  heliotrope 
Spread  sacred  incense  and  the  poppy's  bloom 
Beamed  glad-eyed  beauty  while  the  canon  thrush, 
With  swelling  throat  and  bursting  joy, 
Poured  out  her  notes  in  praiseful  melody; 
The  kiss  of  Heav'n  was  on  the  lips  of  earth 
And  made  it  sweet  to  worship  and  rejoice 
In  all  His  goodness  with  high  ecstasy. 

Once  more,  with  pilgrim  staff  and  shoon, 
My  feet  have  reached  a  sacred  shrine — 
Sacred  because  the  Maker  of  great  worlds 
Here  left  a  bit  of  planet  quite  unsmoothed 

99 


That  men  might  glimpse  His  majesty  and  power, 
Where  cliff  mounts  cliff  until  the  eye 
In  terror  seeks  the  earth  in  deep  humility; 
All  within  that  is  reverent  and  profound 
Mounts  dominant  in  wonder  and  amaze. 
X&gain  'tis  meet  to  worship  and  exult, 

Now,  not  with  ecstacy,  but  that  solemn  joy 

Which  plumbs  the  soul  and  stirs  the  crypts  of  being ; 

Here  you  may  sense  the  pulse  of  the  Almighty 

And  hear  articulate  His  undertones, 

E'en  midst  a  rabble  of  unthinking  wights 

Babbling  of  wheels  and  gears  and  the  demon  Speed, 

Or  some  profaner  of  the  Throb  called  Life, 

And  see  naught  else  in  all  the  universe. 


100 


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LIBRARY,   UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  DAVIS  \ 

^^r 

Book  Slip-25m-6,'66(G3855s4)458 


irniti  BINDER 
Syracuse,  N.  Y. 
Stockton,  Calif. 


N5  487324 

WIlcox,  A.B. 

The  forty-niners. 


PS3545 
1322 
F6 
1922 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


KLJi 


